


Whither Thou Goest

by missingMelbs



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Nazis, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 44,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingMelbs/pseuds/missingMelbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne's father has died and she has gone to London to wrap up some loose ends. While there, some cases arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in March, and have been putting off posting it. It takes place after season 2. Of course, since I killed off Baron cockblock, it has immediately gone AU, but let's face it, Phryne would prefer him dead at the moment! :) 
> 
> The 2 biking chapters I posted will eventually be part of this, so keep that in mind if at any point you're worried about them!
> 
> Starting in Chapter 11, there is discussion of rape. It's not graphic, but a character is assaulted. Please avoid this fic if you feel this will affect you negatively.

"I'll write." His voice was calm, almost stiff, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears, though whether from emotion or from the brisk, late winter wind, was impossible to tell. 'This was it,' he thought. Her luggage was on board, and she was ready to leave. If he was going to say it, it needed to be now.

Phryne tried for a bantering tone. "That would be lovely, Jack. You can keep me up to date on all your cases. Maybe I can even send you a few of my dazzling insights! After all, I wouldn't want to be replaced while I'm gone."

"I'm sure we'll muddle through, but you could never be replaced, Miss Fisher." Jack gave what he hoped was his usual wry grin.

"Just you remember that!" she said cheekily, with just a hint of desperation.

"I will." Jack swallowed nervously. "And… if you need… I mean, if there's anything I can…"

"Oh, Jack! I'll be back before you know it! There are just a few details to hash out about the inheritance. No need to fret."

"Of course." Jack said quickly, looking at his feet, and Phryne felt the need to reassure him.

"Thank you, though," she said softly. "It means a lot to know you're here for me."

"Phryne… I…" he gave a frustrated snort at his ineloquence, and made a snap decision to let his actions speak for him. He reached out and gently cupped Phryne's cheek with his hand - her soft, smooth skin silky against his long, work-roughened fingers.

Lightly rubbing her cheek with his thumb, Jack moved closer, slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, he kissed her, his lips gently caressing hers, his tongue darting out tentatively. As she responded, her own lips parted and the kiss deepened as both tried to pour all their pent up emotions and unspoken promises into this one kiss. Her arms came around his waist, hands under his coat and suit jacket to hold him close. Jack slid his hand from her cheek around through her hair, his other hand splaying over the small of her back, and he gave a small groan of desire mixed with anguish.

They jumped apart at a blast from the ship's horn, warning of imminent departure. Blinking back the tears, vainly trying not to let him see them, Phryne turned and fled up the gangway. Once on board, she stopped and looked back at Jack. Trying again for her usual buoyant spirits, she raised her hand to wave, blew him a kiss, then turned and walked away. It would only be for a few months, she reassured herself, then she'd be back in Melbourne where she belonged.

Jack couldn't have said how long he stayed rooted to the docks, watching as the ship carried his heart away to sea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first in a series of letters between Jack and Phryne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Air mail delivery started around 1927, however I'm assuming it would still take three weeks or more for letters between Europe and Australia. And note that some of their letters cross in the mail.

September 10

Miss Fisher,

I hope this finds you well and your business progressing to satisfaction. All is well here in Melbourne. Miss Williams brings lunch into the station at least once a week, ensuring that her fiancé is well-cared for. Mr. Butler kindly includes enough for me as well, so I enjoy an occasional sampling of his very fine cooking, for which I am most grateful.

Of course I don't see much of Mrs. Stanley or Jane, but Dorothy reports they are doing well, although it sounds as if Jane would prefer to be in your household or in England with you.

I've had several murder cases since your departure, but nothing very puzzling. One was a case of a greedy bookkeeper whose employer held more of a grudge than the thief expected. The other was a cuckolded husband who decided he had had enough and, instead of turning to the courts, used a pistol on his wife, her lover, and then himself. Both cases were quite straightforward, but good practice for Collins and the other lads.

You may be pleased to hear that Dr. Johnson at the Morgue asked after you. It seems he has started to expect your presence, almost as much as I do. Not, of course, that he approves, I should add. I think his first hope was that I had finally refused you access. I did not bother to point out that it hardly matters whether I tell you "No" or not! 

Speaking of which, the case against George and Sidney is progressing slowly, much as expected. It is being hindered at every turn by those who are afraid there may be something of theirs in that damnable box. It sickens me to see just how widespread this corruption is. I am somewhat relieved to be off the case, although if it falls through as a result, I may never forgive myself, or the officer it is assigned to.

Well, it is time for a nightcap here. It is not of the same quality as yours, of course, and lacks the fine company as well, but it will have to suffice until your return.

Cordially,  
Jack

***

October 3

Dear Jack,

Never have I been so grateful for you than today! I have always appreciated that you treat me with respect and as a colleague without being condescending, but the Sergeant I was forced to deal with today at the Thames Division could not be more vile and loathsome a creature if he tried! I know we don't always agree on methods, but you rarely use your position to force my compliance, and I will be extremely glad to get back to Melbourne. 

Thankfully, one of the Inspectors at Bow Street seems willing to listen to "mere womanly intuition," or at least is willing to accept receipt of criminals wrapped in brown paper and string without much fuss! Of course it does help that he is rather easy on the eyes…

I don't anticipate this inheritance matter taking much longer now, and I hope to be home before too long. The war has wreaked havoc with death records. Frankly it is amazing they managed to determine my father's claim, let alone now finding his replacement. However there are several leads they are following up on. While we can't share a drink at the moment, perhaps you will join me in toasting their success from our separate locales.

With fondness and respect for a man of honor,  
Phryne

***

Jack's letter had crossed hers in the post, and she had received it a few days after posting her own. She smiled at his reference to their shared nightcaps, and jotted off a quick note to Mr. Butler. She truly did miss Dot and Mr. B. The staff here were so stiff. She had tried to connect with them - asking about their families, praising their skills, offering gentle guidance instead of reprimands - but it seemed she was doomed to strict formality for the duration of her stay. 

She was surprised how much she was missing Australia and her friends there, and hoped her affairs here could be wrapped up quickly. When word had come of her father's death, her first thought was of her mother. Phryne knew her mother would be devastated and would need her. So, despite their differences, she had already made preliminary plans when her mother called again, panicked about the succession - or rather its implications for her preferred lifestyle.

The title and estate were entailed to the male members of the family. Under normal circumstances, Phryne and her mother should have been provided for through a bequest in her father's will. Except the fool had never had one drawn up! Phryne still could scarcely believe it, and it made her seethe with rage. Not for herself; she had made her own investments and had no need of his money. Her mother, on the other hand, would be left with nothing, unless the new Baron deigned to bestow an allowance on her. 

Her father was still illustrating the same irresponsibility he always had, even from beyond the grave. He had known that his widow and daughter would not inherit the main estate, he had used that reasoning plenty of times to try to persuade Phryne to marry; but he had not seen fit to leave a will so that at least his wife would have something to live on.

Now Phryne was left with several dilemmas. The war had lain waste to so many men; her father had risen to his position due to that fact, and now they faced a search for the next in line. Phryne also needed to make arrangements for her mother, in the form of a small house in London and an allowance. Most of this could be left to the solicitors, but signatures were needed, and various decisions had to be taken in person. She was optimistic, however, that once the heir was located there would only be a few more signatures and she could be on board a ship bound for Melbourne before the ink was dry on the last of the documents.

In the meantime, she had stumbled on a case as she was disembarking in London. Phryne had attempted to work with the Thames Police since it was their jurisdiction, but the Sergeant had been incompetent, condescending and altogether foul. She had wound up delivering the criminal to Bow Street Station, wrapped in brown paper and string, addressed to an Inspector the cabby who took her recommended. The Inspector turned out to be quite handsome and moderately respectful. She might enjoy seeing what he was capable of, but he was no Jack Robinson, that was certain.

October 10

Mr. B,

Please send Inspector Robinson a bottle of whiskey from my private stash with my compliments. My thanks (and Jack's as well) for including treats for the Inspector in Dot's hampers for Hugh. You are an absolute treasure, both you and Dot, and I will be so relieved to return home to your excellent care!  
Fondly,  
Phryne Fisher


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters and some realizations.

November 2

Miss Fisher,

My sincere thanks for the bottle of excellent whiskey. Mr. Butler arranged for it to be delivered to my home along with a delightful hamper of food. There was enough food to feed a small army, but thankfully much of it was not prone to spoiling, and I am still enjoying the last of it, along with a superb nightcap, as I write this.

As to the London police, while I cannot condone condescension or corrupt behavior, I can certainly understand frustration with your methods! Breaking and entering, removing evidence, and tampering with victims and crime scenes, to name a few. Not every officer possesses the stellar powers of self-control I have exhibited throughout our association, and I hope you are showing a bit more restraint with your new contact in the police force than you have shown with me. I am, however, flattered to know you finally appreciate my many fine traits, and I look forward to renewing our association on your return. 

It may amuse you to know that my most recent case required searching a room full of witnesses. Since we were short staffed, and remembering Collins' ineptitude during the case at the Green Mill, I had no choice but to demonstrate appropriate search techniques on those present. A shame you were not on hand to critique my methods.

Jack

He hoped the letter was not too flirtatious. Probably not; this was Phryne Fisher after all. Certainly their banter over the months before her departure had grown increasingly flirtatious, but it felt a bit more salacious to put it in writing. He knew it was wrong of him to be jealous of this unknown Inspector, but he was somewhat annoyed that she felt the need to taunt him with her conquests from halfway around the world. He knew she still took lovers - he was not a fool - but she had been more discrete since their disagreement over Warwick Hamilton during the cemetery case. Now here she was, practically rubbing it in his face, and he was in no position to do anything at all about it.

***

Jack might have felt somewhat better had he known what was on Phryne's mind when she received his letter. She had indulged in a brief fling with the Inspector at Bow Street Station, but had been rather disappointed. He was competent enough, both in and out of bed, but something was missing. She decided she needed a more experienced and imaginative lover.

Toward the end of November, her opportunity arose when the notoriously philandering Prince of Wales returned to London from his East African trip. Ostensibly he was at home because his father, King George had fallen seriously ill, but his family troubles didn't seem to have dampened his ardent spirit overmuch, or perhaps he was simply in need a different sort of comfort than might be considered appropriate. In any case, the rumors were true, Phryne decided afterward. The Prince was indeed a talented lover. It had been a very memorable weekend. But despite being physically sated, Phryne was still yearning for something different. It bothered her, and she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. She had decided to blame it on his somewhat boorish admiration for Hitler and the Nazi Party, until Jack's letter arrived a few days later.

She laughed out loud when she read it. She loved Jack at his witty, bantering best, teasing her with his self-restraint! What she wouldn't give to be searched by that man! And suddenly, she knew why she hadn't been satisfied by her recent liaisons. They weren't Jack. Even the Prince of Wales, next in line for the throne, couldn't compare to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the Victorian Constabulary.

November 28

Jack, dear,

I was very pleased to receive your letter! You must know I am quite keen to renew our association - both professional and otherwise, darling. And, while my new detective does not possess your, admittedly impressive, skills of self-restraint, he also lacks your depths of intellect, charm and honor, and I am, therefore, not in the least tempted to give you up. 

Besides, I am longing for the Antipodes! As soon as I can possibly return to Melbourne, I am all yours again. As for Hugh, I am sure his search techniques can be improved with some coaching from Dottie, and perhaps you could work on honing an ability to overcome your self-restraint on occasion? I would be happy to critique any methods you care to apply.

In fervent anticipation,  
Phryne  
XX

The subtext in that letter gave Jack renewed hope, despite his realization that she had, indeed, seduced his counterpart in London, and some embarrassment over the comment on his lack of initiative. He resolved to overcome that fault the very next time he saw her. As if he would be capable of anything else after such a prolonged separation from her. If he had harbored any doubts about the extent of his feelings for Phryne Fisher, this time apart had erased them. 

He only hoped her own feelings had deepened, and she wouldn't lose interest after a brief fling. He really didn't know if he could survive that. He knew she wanted him, had known that, really, for a long time now, could feel it sizzling between them sometimes, bubbling just below the surface. Of course he wanted her too. The attraction had been there even before his divorce, although he would never have acted on it while he was married. He and Rosie hadn't been living together for several years by the time he met Phryne, but "a marriage is still a marriage," he had warned the Lady Detective. 

Jack had come home from the war a changed man. One who seemed incapable of love, or any other feeling really, except duty. Duty to the law, duty to his marriage, duty to his parents. It made him cold. The shell shock hadn't helped matters of course. Rosie hadn't known what to do. She couldn't reach him, and he didn't know how to reach her either. He just couldn't tell her about the horrors in his mind, and eventually, she had given up. Lawson had been right, he thought, "The best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell."

Miss Fisher had made him feel alive again. Matching wits with this brilliant, beautiful, courageous, mischievous Lady Detective, had given him back his spark. She made him laugh. At first Jack was irritated at how she insinuated herself into his murder investigations, but despite her unconventional methods and lack of formal training, she got results. She worked with him, challenging him, making connections and trading ideas. She took risks, as well. At first he thought his reactions to her being in danger were what he would feel toward any other civilian.

But then he had kissed her. Phryne was about to ruin their police operation by looking a killer in the eyes, and the only way Jack could think of to distract her was to pull her to him for a deep kiss, and he knew he was in trouble. He managed to keep his head - just - and signal Collins, but it was a near thing. He had felt that kiss like a jolt of electricity to his heart. And Phryne had kissed him back. When Jack had realized the painting at the heart of that case was a nude painting of her, he had gotten far too flustered. She called him on both the kiss and his reaction to the portrait, and Jack bluffed his way through his responses. Miss Fisher had allowed him to retreat behind his walls, but he knew she wasn't fooled for a moment.

He had tried to keep his distance, maintain his walls, but she was so vibrant. Yet her strength belied the pain and suffering that had shaped her. And, for some reason, she had allowed him to see those parts of her. Then, that day when he got the garbled phone message, "Miss Fisher; car crash" and the location, the bottom fell out of his world. He realized he had fallen in love with her. He back-pedaled, tried to cut his losses, but it was too late. He was miserable without her, and she refused to leave. 

He would never presume to ask her to change who she was, but he was terrified he would lose her, either because of the risks she took, or because of her cavalier love 'em and leave 'em attitude. He had buried his heart for so long he was paralyzed with fear of putting it at risk this way.

Now, as Jack re-read her last letter, he allowed himself to hope. That hope, juxtaposed with the continued frustration of her absence, was probably the reason for what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HRH Edward VIII was Prince of Wales at the time of our heroes. In late November 1928, King George fell ill with blood poisoning, while Edward was touring East Africa. The King's condition was serious, and Edward returned to England to be with his father. However, some reports indicate he was less than thrilled to leave his latest conquest in Uganda. The King recovered slowly but fully. After a number of other flings and relationships, Edward met Wallis Simpson in 1930, though they didn't get together until 1934. Anyway, it seemed like too good a story to pass up that Phryne might have met him! Also, it is widely rumored that Edward and Wallis had Nazi sympathies, and Edward was sent to Bermuda to avoid any more rumor and scandal in that vein.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters and some revelations.

December 21

Dearest Phryne,

I miss you terribly today. It is your birthday, and your absence is like an open wound on my heart. I wish we could celebrate together, our one gaudy night. I would kiss you like I did when you left. Like I wish I had done sooner.

But all I can hold tonight are my memories. You haunt my dreams, Phryne. I see you at that Turkish bath draped in only a towel, shimmering with sweat. I see myself arriving a few minutes later, after the explosion, and finding your charred corpse. I see your glorious body in Sarcelle's portrait, or in real life dressed only in feathers and beads. I see your body mangled in a crashed motorcar. I imagine kissing you and holding you, making love to you for hours at a time. You have no idea how many times and in how many ways I have imagined that. It is both torture and bliss.

But I love more than your body, my Phryne. You are brave and bold, kind and generous, funny and playful, and so, so clever. You are the partner I never knew was possible. I love just being with you, on a case, or having dinner or a nightcap together. I love that you allow me to see underneath your surface strength to the pain that has shaped you. 

And that willingness to share yourself makes me hopeful that you may have started to feel the same. I love you Phryne, and I want you more than I can say, but I don't think I can live through another broken heart. I don't want to change you, but I cannot change myself either, and I need to know you feel even a sliver of what I feel for you. I don't want to cage you - never that - but to provide a safe place for you to perch.

Please, come back to me soon. Until then, as you contemplate the passing of another year, remember:  
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale   
Her infinite variety; other women cloy   
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry   
Where most she satisfies.

Happy Birthday, dearest Phryne.

Yours,  
Jack

Jack couldn't remember what he had written to her; he had consumed too much whisky for a clear memory. Really, it was amazing he had been able to hold a pen steady enough for a legible result. He vaguely recalled searching his study for postage, and then the next day he had been unable to locate the sloppily sealed envelope when he returned from his (rather agonizing and ill-advised) morning ride. When he realized his housekeeper had been while he was out, he panicked. He finally tracked the woman down when she returned home for lunch. After she had mailed the damn letter. 

He was fairly sure he had included the Antony and Cleopatra quote. The one he had quoted to her once before. He hoped she could construe its inclusion as a reference to that occasion rather than as a declaration of his love and desire. He somehow doubted it. The rest of the letter would have had to be very subtle and restrained for her to interpret it that way, and based on the size of his hangover, subtlety and restraint would have been rather a stretch. He suspected melodramatic declarations or outright propositions were more likely. 

All he could hope now was that she would be understanding. Not too caustic in her rejection. Or showing too much pity or outright hilarity at his pathetic advances. 

But, God, how he missed her.

***

January 25

My Darling Jack,

You seem to have taken me quite literally when I suggested you hone your ability to overcome your self-restraint. Not that I am complaining! I am, however, surprised. I suspect a large quantity of alcohol was involved. Which begs the question - how much of your letter to me do YOU recall? 

Regardless, I am touched by the depth of your feelings, and I assure you I would very much welcome further explorations. In truth, I have made some realizations of my own that I hope to be able to discuss with you on my return.

Mmmmm. I got quite caught up in re-reading your words. They are very distracting. Almost… explosive… in the best of ways… Most satisfying!

Unfortunately things with the estate are continuing to drag on here, but now I have even more incentive to wrap them up as quickly as possible! 

In the meantime, I am continuing to amuse myself with the occasional case. There have been a number of cases related to missing persons lately. With tensions rising over an influx of refugees, I can't tell you how many cases I have turned down because the client was blaming some poor immigrant for something utterly ridiculous. I swear some of these idiots must believe in witchcraft and ghosts too!

Hmmm. I may have to retreat to the privacy of my room so I can read your letter again and relax… 

Feel free to write more, darling, it was very… inspirational.

Affectionately,  
Phryne  
XX

 

Dear God! Did she mean she had… while reading his… no… she couldn't mean that! And shame on him for even letting such lewd thoughts cross his mind! But, at least her reaction had been positive to whatever it was that he had written. Now he really wished he could recall, and, of course, he could never, ever, ask her what he had said. Jack groaned. Damn his filthy mind, now he could not get that image out of his head! How could she do this to him from the other side of the world with just a few words on a piece of paper? He went to take a cold shower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters and some speculation on their reactions to the war

February 25 

Dear Miss Fisher,

I hope this finds you well and in good spirits. I am as well as ever, though I fear I must admit to missing your, shall we say, less conventional investigative skills on my most recent case. Your more direct methods of obtaining certain evidence and clues would have allowed me to close the case much more quickly, though I would almost certainly have had to be rather creative with my reports! As it was, the suspects refused to speak, either to Collins at the station or to their "coworker" Archibald Jones, and I was unable to locate the evidence without jeopardizing my disguise. 

As to the investigations you mentioned in your last letter, please do be careful, and I hope that if I may be of service, in any way, you will let me know.

I am sure you have been informed that Collins and Miss Williams are in the process of planning their nuptials. If you happen to have any long-distance sway over my Constable, perhaps you could remind him that the salary to support his prospective bride does, in fact, require him to pay some small attention to the criminals of Melbourne, in addition to said blushing bride and his wedding plans. 

How are things progressing with settling your father's estate? I look forward to the news that all is completed and that you will be returning to all of your friends here in Melbourne. I know Dot is looking forward to showing you her dress!

I remain, as ever, affectionately,  
Jack

P.S. On re-reading the above I find I may have been a bit harsh in my frustration with Collins. I apologize, and I am, of course, pleased for Hugh and Dot.

Phryne was disappointed but not surprised by Jack's more formal tone in this letter, but at least he had not completely retreated. She had been overwhelmed by the letter he had sent on her birthday - just the fact of those words being written by Jack Robinson - her reserved, self-restrained Jack - had inspired her dreams since then, as she heard his deep, rumbling voice in her mind, and imagined his hands on her body, stroking her most intimate places with those long, beautiful fingers; stroking and rubbing and pressing until her pleasure exploded in wave after wave of tremors.

She just wished she could leave this place and go home - to Australia, Melbourne, her own darling house, her own staff, her Hispano, and most importantly, Jack. She sighed. How had this happened? She was Phryne Fisher! She wasn't supposed to become this attached to a man! But somehow she had let him into her heart, in a way she had not let in any of her lovers since René. And Jack wasn't even her lover. He shared some characteristics with her usual bed partners - he was charming, witty, handsome and educated - yet he had resisted all her attempts to bed him. 

It wasn't that he wasn't interested. Those smoldering looks they shared (not to mention that letter!) told her, quite clearly, that he wanted her; that he had almost from the very beginning. He never would have acted on it while he was still married, even though he and his wife had been living apart for several years before Phryne had met him. But once he was divorced, he still hadn't fallen into her bed.

In the beginning, she thought it had to do with their respective responses to the war: she had decided to not take anything seriously again - to live to the hilt, but only on the surface, protecting her heart by not letting anyone get in too deep. He had retreated into his own private self where no one and nothing could get through all the layers to hurt him. Except neither one of them had really succeeded. 

During his years at war, he had learned to block out his feelings. It made it easier to cope with the horrors around him. But once he was home, he couldn't find his way out of those layers, and it had cost him his marriage. That loss had wounded him deeply, and proved to him that it was safer to just stay hidden behind those layers lest he be hurt again. The good was blocked with the bad, though, and he wasn't really living, only going through the motions.

Phryne's method hadn't really worked either. Although there was laughter and pleasure, it was lacking the depth of friendship, trust and mutual respect. She used men for sexual release, conversation and dancing, but they never really knew all of her. They saw only the strong, independent woman she had become, not the pain that had shaped her - the lonely, guilt-ridden girl whose sister had been killed by a madman; the traumatized and emotionally raw young nurse covered in blood; the idealistic artist's model turned into a frightened, abused, defeated woman. And not having anyone to share her pain with somehow diminished her triumph.

She and Jack saw through each other's disguises to the pain below, and they did not pull back from what they found. He treated her as his equal, with respect. He understood the experiences that had made her who she was, and he didn't want to change her. She had been a nurse in the war, and knew what he had experienced there - the demons he had brought home. Slowly, bit by bit, he had begun peeling away his layers and allowing her in, allowing himself to feel again - the joy and the sorrow.

Once that happened, she thought his refusal to fall at her feet had more to do with a fear of losing what they had built. Now there was the letter he had written for her birthday, and the revelation that he was afraid she would break his heart, that he thought she didn't care for him the same way. It was no wonder he had withdrawn back behind his walls. She really needed to get back to Melbourne soon and fix this.

But first, her mother had wanted to speak with her before luncheon, so she had best deal with that before formulating her reply to Jack.

 

March 25

Dear Jack,

I am tired to death of solicitors, inheritance laws, and the whole of the aristocracy!! Why they insist that this process has to be so convoluted, I have no idea. Last month's scheme, concocted at least in part by my dear mother, was to marry me off to a fourth cousin who is all of 12 years of age! 

Thankfully, due to the discovery of some old codger or other, the child turned out not to be my father's heir after all and I was thereby saved from robbing the cradle. Honestly! You would think these ridiculous ideas were the fodder of a penny dreadful writer!

Of course now they are trying to fob me off on the codger, but apparently he has heard a few too many rumors about my "sinful" lifestyle, my "frivolous" interest in detective work, and my "scandalous relationship" with a certain police detective in Melbourne who shall remain nameless. I suppose if the rumor-mongers manage to keep me out of the clutches of an oaf such as that, then I owe them a debt of gratitude, but I do hope your reputation as a first rate detective can withstand the tarnish of your association with a "woman of loose morals" such as me!

But enough for now, Jack dear - I'm off to a charity fundraiser. The proceeds are intended to support the families of persons gone missing on the Continent (many of whom are presumed killed by those murderous thugs in brown or black shirts in Germany and Italy). I have another case to follow up on as well, though if things continue as they are, the situation may soon be too perilous even for me. 

What I wouldn't give for a good old-fashioned murder committed for love or money instead of all this hatred and bigotry.

I've enclosed something that might be of use the next time you have a case that isn't going anywhere through, as you put it, more conventional methods. I assume you have at least a basic familiarity with the techniques, but I would be happy to provide you with my expert tutelage on my return.

Fondly,  
Phryne

P.S. I'll mention your concerns over Hugh's distraction in my next letter to Dot, but no promises. XX -P

Jack had to laugh. She had sent him a set of lockpicks much like her own pearl-handled ones, though without the matching dagger. The handles of his were jet - pure black, smooth and shiny. Only Phryne Fisher would have a custom-made set of lockpicks worth more than anything she intended to obtain through their use. Well, only Phryne, and, now, Jack Robinson. The irony was all the more striking since he was sure the picks had cost more than just about anything else he owned. He grinned and shook his head. Oh, that woman!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters, some ponderings on Jack's reputation within the force.

April 22

Dear Miss Fisher,

I hope you are well and have managed to negotiate the legal labyrinth that had you so upset in your last letter. I wish I could be of more use to you, but if it helps you to put pen to paper, then so be it - as you are aware by now, I am a voracious reader.

Thank you for the gift you included. It brought a smile to my lips, and continues to do so frequently, as I now keep them in my pocket with my notebook so they are close to hand if I should ever need them. While my skills may not be equal to yours, they are adequate, but perhaps we can compare methods at some point in the future.

As to my reputation, I gave up paying it much mind many years ago. Surprising as it may be, "scandal" seems to be my middle name within the force. Between the police strike and my connections to George, it's just as well I never had any real ambitions to rise any higher. So, my "involvement" with you is, if anything, an improvement. After all, I don't believe I ever merited mention in aristocratic circles before meeting you, and in London, no less! I am quite content to be associated with you, though I do wish the rumors had more to do with your intellect and detective skills.

With regards to your cases, I know you never listen to me, but I still can't help but ask that you please be careful. 

Jack

He would never repeat the rumors he heard about them. His own reputation within the police force was mixed at best. His connection to former Deputy Commissioner George Sanderson, through Rosie, had been an ongoing source of scandal since he was a young constable. After all, he had married his superior's daughter, with George's blessing, which smacked of nepotism to most. When George continued to rise in the force, Jack had had to work twice as hard to find favor with his superiors and earn the respect of his men. 

But the Police Strike of '23 had been the hardest blow to his reputation. Almost without exception, the strikers had been fired and essentially black-listed from the force. Yet he had kept his job. He knew, without a doubt, that he owed that to George Sanderson. George had used the strike to rise to the post of Deputy Commissioner, and despite his disapproval of Jack's actions, had made sure that his son-in-law remained on the force. 

On top of all that, Jack's willingness to take down corrupt cops like Sergeant Grossmith last year and more recently George himself, was sometimes seen as a bit treasonous among the men.

As Phryne became a more frequent presence at City South, the rumors began to fly. Within the force, Jack's relationship with Phryne was mostly viewed in one of two ways. Either Jack was a womanizer who used Phryne to aid in his investigations, or Jack was so enthralled by Phryne's "whorish behavior" that he allowed her complete control over his cases and his station. Only a very few recognized her skills, and even they believed she was his mistress.

In fact the one thing everyone seemed to agree on was that he and she were lovers, and however much he hoped that might soon be the case, he didn't dare tell her that. So he made light of her concern over his reputation, and alluded only gently to his concern over hers.

***

April 12

Jack!

Good news! Everything has been agreed upon, and I am only awaiting the final documents for signature before I am free to return to Melbourne! I feel like a prisoner granted reprieve after years of confinement.

The papers will take a few days, so I am taking the opportunity for a last visit to Paris and Veronique before I head for home. I am also hoping to find out more about events on the continent before I leave Europe. I know many people make light of it, but I am deeply worried about the trends I've seen in my investigations. The thuggery on the surface, I am sure, hides more sinister undercurrents, and I am well aware that poverty can cause usually rational people to make desperate decisions.

Anyway I should only be in France a few days - no more than a week - then I return to London to sign papers and pack. I will be on my way before the month is out. I'll telegram the details of my voyage when I return from Paris.

Oh! I can't wait!

Jubilantly,  
Phryne  
XX

Jack was surprised to get another letter from her so soon. It must have crossed with his in the post, as he had only written a week or two ago. When he read it, he realized why, and felt his heart lift with joy. She was coming home! He only realized he was whistling to himself when he caught Collins giving him an odd look.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets another letter, but this one just doesn't sound like Phryne...

April 17

My Darling Jack,

It seems ridiculous that it has taken months apart and a voyage halfway around the world for me to realize it, but I finally have recognized the truth: I love you.

I know we both have so many shadows in our past, but sharing mine with you has not made me weak, as I always feared - it has made me stronger. I once told you I needed you by my side to remind me not to be afraid of shadows. It was true then and is even more so now. Sometimes the shadows threaten to overwhelm me, but knowing you understand allows me to pass through them. I loved what you wrote about not wanting to cage me, but rather to provide a safe place for me to perch - that's it exactly! I need the safety of your love and the strength of your arms to come home to.

I miss you so much, and I can't wait to see you again! To finally hold you in my arms and be held by you. In the time we have known each other we have shared two kisses. One stolen in that café, the other before I boarded my ship; now, here, alone, I find myself in need of your kisses, and I pray we will be together soon.

Do you remember the time I was in Maiden Creek and I called to ask if you could come fix my car? I felt so alone and scared, but I didn't dare show it. When you showed up the next morning I was so relieved I could have burst into tears! You know I hate to be dependent on anyone, least of all a man, but with you by my side… I think we can do anything together!

I hope my forwardness doesn't frighten you, dear Jack. I know I don't often put my feelings into words so plainly, but I can't hide them away any longer. Do you remember Fern and Archie? Believe it or not, I ran into Fern here! Of course she asked about you, and I got an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. She must have seen something in my eyes, because she told me she thought you and I were just like her and Archie. Then she said we shouldn't waste any more time - that we should grasp the possibilities and live our dreams together. A wise woman. I'm having tea with them next week. 

I could go on, but I think at this point I should give you a chance to respond - a chance to rescue me from my dilemma. I know you care for me, but I hope that has grown into something more. You're such an honorable man, who always does the noble thing, and you've come to mean so much to me. I'll stop babbling now and patiently wait for your response to arrive.

With Love,  
Phryne

Jack was worried. On the surface, Phryne's letter seemed cheerful and open, though the tone was unlike her. She had certainly been very open about her feelings, which he supposed had him a bit worried too, but that wasn't at the heart of his concern. He was more concerned about the things she hadn't said. She hadn't mentioned her visit to Paris, her return to London, or making the voyage to Melbourne. And yet she had written it only a few days after the one announcing she would be returning soon. In fact there were almost no place references at all. Where had she been when she wrote this letter? 

She made several references to cases they had worked on together, but the references were oblique. If anyone but he were to read them, he doubted the letter would mean anything at all. And that bothered him. It implied that she expected someone might read the letter. On her end. Someone whom she did not want to know that she was a detective. Or that she was writing to one. 

From her reference to seeing Fern and Archie, he assumed she was going undercover, since those were names they had each used for undercover cases. So she had wanted him to know that. She had also mentioned the winery case, when she had called and asked him to come help her. Her request that time had been framed very oddly, because, as it turned out, she had been afraid to speak openly where she would be overheard.

That was why he was worried. She was in trouble. She needed him. She was asking him to come. And it would take him at least six weeks to get to her. In addition to the time the letter had already spent in transit. He shook his head grimly. Only Phryne would continue with a planned undercover operation that she suspected was already compromised; one where her backup could not arrive for several months, and that only if he managed to pick up on her vague hints that she might need him. Not that there was any question of him not going. He just prayed she had been able to leave a more substantial trail for him in Paris.

***

April 17

Dear Liz,

I hope this finds you well. I am enjoying my trip. Paris is just as I remember it. I wish I could share it with you.

I visited the University the other day; it reminded me of that project you asked me to work on last year. Do you remember? You asked my fiancé Jack to help too. Of course we weren't together then, and it was rather awkward at first, but it turned out well in the end. I'm not sure it would have if we hadn't both been involved. You must have had a feeling we would work well together. I'm glad of that.

Tomorrow Notre Dame!

Love and Kisses,  
Phryne 

***

The next day, Jack arranged a meeting with Dr. MacMillan, Miss Williams and Mr. Butler. 

"Is there something you wanted to tell us, Inspector?" asked Mac wryly, "Some news to share, perhaps?" 

Jack frowned slightly. "As a matter of fact, I was hoping to gather information from all of you."

"Hmmm. Well, I got a letter from Phryne yesterday." Dr. MacMillan paused, clearly waiting for Jack to add something, but he had no idea what she expected, so he said nothing.

"It wasn't actually much of a letter. She didn't really say anything, if you know what I mean. But she did mention you, Jack." Mac paused again, and again Jack said nothing.

Mac gave an exasperated sigh. "She referred to you as her 'fiancé,' Jack. So. Anything you want to tell us?"

Jack choked on the tea he had just taken a sip of. He glanced around the table. They were all looking at him, with varying degrees of shock in their eyes. "Ah." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, straightened his tie and tried again. "Well. I am fairly certain I would remember that." Dear God! His drunken love letter hadn't contained a proposal, had it? Surely not! And even if it had, she would never…

"I may have an explanation, though. Well, of sorts, I believe." He was babbling. He took a deep breath. "I also received an odd letter from Miss Fisher." He turned back to Dr. MacMillan. "Did she make reference to any of my - our - cases?"

"Yes, but that was strange too. She referred to Dr. Katz's murder, but … she phrased it oddly. A 'project' at the University, I think she said?"

Jack nodded. "And she specifically mentioned you calling both of us in on that case, didn't she. While avoiding using any words or phrases that would indicate an investigation?"

Mac nodded, puzzled.

"The letter she wrote me also made specific but vague reference to cases we worked on together. Ones where she got into trouble and needed help." He could see the realization forming on their faces.

Dot voiced it for them, "Miss Fisher is in trouble? She needs help?" 

"I believe so. She mentioned 'Fern' - the name she used when she went undercover at the circus. And 'Archie' - the name I used at the radio station. So I assume she was planning on going undercover. But I agree with Dr. MacMillan. The wording was odd in mine too. I think she was afraid her letter… letters… would be read." He looked at Mac, "I think that's why she referred to me… that way. It was the simplest way to justify mentioning me without raising suspicion." He gave a wry grin, "Well, at least in whoever else she thought might be reading it. But she wanted to raise your suspicions, Dr. MacMillan, to make sure you would discuss it with me." He turned to the rest of the group. "So. That's why I've asked you here. If I'm going to help her, I need to know about any communication you've had with Miss Fisher since she left."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberty with the travel time...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mac head for Europe and arrive in Paris to start the search for Phryne.

Once he and Mac were on board ship, Jack had far too much time to think and worry. So much time had passed since Phryne had written her letters asking for his help. He hardly dared think of all that could have gone wrong in that time, and he knew so little of what she had been involved in. All he really knew at this point was that it most likely involved the Jewish community, but in what way was unclear. 

Dot and Mr. Butler hadn't had a lot to tell him. Phryne had requested contact information for several people she knew from the Jewish community in Melbourne. Jack had gone to see them as well, and they had given him the same information they had sent to Phryne - contact information for people in the Jewish communities of London and Paris, the names of several art galleries and museums owned or operated by Jewish caretakers, and some insight into the rising feelings of anti-Semitism in France. He realized he might have difficulty gaining the trust of people within the Jewish community, but perhaps some dropped names and some money in the right places would grease the wheels. 

Jack was immensely impressed with and grateful for Phryne's foresight and financial knowledge. Before she had left Melbourne she had taken steps to ensure that the people she cared for were looked after in her absence. Obviously she had a will in the event of her death, but she had gone several steps further. She didn't know how long she would be gone, and she knew that several of the people she cared for (including himself and Mac, he thought wryly) would be unlikely to ask for help directly, even in an emergency. So, in true Phryne fashion, she had figured out a way around them. She had asked Jack to keep an eye and ear open in regards to Mac, and if something should arise that he felt Phryne would have involved herself in and provided help, Jack was to approach her solicitors about the matter. Apparently Mac had had similar instructions regarding him, and Phryne's staff had instructions to approach Jack or Mac with anything they observed. The solicitors had had instructions to follow Mac’s or Jack's suggestions and provide funding and whatever other help they could. Phryne had known that neither he nor Mac would betray that trust. 

So after a certain amount of discussion, Mac and Jack had approached the solicitors and obtained the funds, documents, travel arrangements and letters of guarantee necessary to get the two of them to Europe and find Phryne. It had taken a few days, but he was certain it would have taken much longer if he had been trying to make the arrangements on his own. While he was not planning to throw Phryne's money around, he was relieved not to have to worry about finances either. If it came down to a matter of money, he would use every last cent available to have Phryne back. Money made all sorts of things possible, and he was under no illusions that he would have gotten very far in this quest with his own limited finances. 

Jack had been determined to go alone, but Mac had refused to even consider that. In the end, Jack had had to admit that her French was better than his, and her medical expertise might be very useful. If it came to traveling to Germany, which Jack suspected it might from what little he knew, the language advantage went to him and Mac would stay in Paris. And although Jack was trying not to think too much about the possibilities, there were many situations where he suspected Phryne would prefer to have a woman to rely on rather than him. 

*****

"What are you hoping to learn, Monsieur?" Veronique Sarcelle glanced at him nervously as she poured the tea. He was leaning against the mantle in her sitting room, in his usual relaxed pose, though he was anything but relaxed. 

"When was the last time you saw Miss Fisher?" Jack asked in return. He and Mac had arrived in Paris the evening before, settling in to their hotel and making arrangements for him to meet with Madame Sarcelle today at her flat. Mac was elsewhere now, looking for other leads. 

"I do not understand what this is about, Monsieur. Has something happened to ma petite Phryne?" 

Jack tasted the tea she handed to him, trying to remain calm. All he really wanted to do was shake this woman and demand answers. He drew a deep breath. "Madame Sarcelle, when Miss Fisher came to Paris in April, she intended to stay no more than a week. But she never returned to London or Melbourne. Please. I just want to know she is safe." Jack's voice was soft, but his frustration was beginning to show. 

Veronique slowly sank onto the settee. "I do not know what to think, Monsieur." She darted a glance at him, then looked away. "I have not seen her since then. She came to visit, as you say, for a week. Then she left. I do not know where. I assumed she was returning to London." She had a slightly defiant look in her eyes now. "That is all I know." 

Jack sighed. "Madame Sarcelle. Did Phryne ask you not to say anything?" There was a flicker of surprise on Veronique's face, gone in an instant. Jack sat in the chair nearest her and tried to catch her eyes. He needed her to trust him. He swallowed hard. "Veronique," he said quietly, "Phryne sent me a letter, asking me to come to her, to find her. Please, tell me what you know." He tried to put all his fears and concern for Phryne in his eyes and voice. 

Veronique looked at him, her eyes searching his face for some time. "You came to Paris? From Melbourne? Because she wrote you a letter? What is she to you?" He saw curiosity and a faint hope in her eyes, but also fear. 

Without thinking he answered, hoarsely, "My sun and stars." He had to look away; his pride would not allow him to break down here. He needed to act professionally. He waited, his hands gripping his knees. 

After a bit, Veronique began. "She came to visit. We talked, had dinner. She mentioned she was meeting a client the following day. I had the impression it was a former client, not a current case. The next afternoon she came to see me, but she seemed upset. She told me if anyone asked that I should tell them nothing about her detective work. She said it would be safer for both of us. Then she left." Veronique seemed to wilt a bit. "I do not know where she went, or even who she saw that day. I am sorry." 

Jack sat for a few moments, thinking. "Thank you for your help, Madame Sarcelle. I'll let you know if— when I find her. Do you know where she was staying?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack talks to the staff at Phryne's hotel, but gets a big surprise when he returns to his own hotel.

The Baltimore was an elegant building, recently converted into a luxury hotel near the Champs-Élysées and the Eiffel Tower. Jack felt somewhat out of place in the glittering lobby, but he had never let that stop him before and wasn't about to now. The staff, however, had other ideas. "I am sorry, Monsieur," the Concierge said, in a tone that made it clear he was not. "We do not give out information on our guests to anyone." 

Jack swore under his breath. He knew he didn't really have any leverage. His credentials were worthless here, and his name was not one to open doors. He could not even prove any sort of relationship with Phryne. He decided to change tactics. And locales. Surely Phryne would have spent time in the bar. He thanked the man for his time and stalked off. 

The two bartenders, of course, remembered Phryne. The garrulous one gave him several names and some interesting tidbits, but Jack suspected the tight-lipped one was the one he needed to talk to. He sipped his scotch and waited until the talkative one was busy with another customer, then signaled to the other. 

"Henri, did Phryne ever ask you to help her with anything? Perhaps to watch someone?" 

The man's eyes widened, and he looked around quickly to be sure no one was close enough to hear. "I do not know what you are implying, Monsieur! Mademoiselle Phryne was a lady! And I do not gossip about our patrons!" 

Jack could sense the man was afraid, not just protecting Phryne's reputation. "What time do you finish here, Henri? Perhaps we could meet somewhere?" Henri was wavering, but Jack could see he needed an extra nudge. "Please. She asked for my help. I need to find her." 

Finally the bartender nodded. He took Jack's glass and refilled it, returning it to him with a fresh napkin. Jack saw a flash of something on the underside of it as Henri set it down. He gave the man a small but grateful nod of acknowledgment before downing the drink, pocketing the napkin without looking at it, and leaving a large tip.

****

Jack arrived at the cafe exactly on time for his meeting with the barkeep. Henri was already there, seated at a table in a dark corner of the room. Jack joined him silently. Henri was young, perhaps 19 or 20, and handsome. 'Just the type to captivate Phryne,' Jack thought somewhat bitterly. He stopped that train of thought right there. 

"How do you know Mademoiselle Phryne?" the boy asked, cautiously. 

"I'm a friend from Melbourne. We work together sometimes." 

Henri thought for a few moments, then shrugged. "She asked me to watch, like you said, and follow." 

"Who?" 

"She mailed some letters at the desk. She asked me to watch when they were collected, see who took them, and where." 

"And? What did you see?" 

Henri fiddled with his cup of coffee, idly turning it before answering, "Monsieur Falkenrath from the desk. He opened the box and took the letters. I think he went to the back office. When he came back out later, he had a packet under his arm and his coat on. I followed him. He posted the mail from the packet, then he went to a house on Rue Balzac. I don’t know who lives there, but Monsieur Falkenrath lives near Montparnasse. There was a cafe across the street and I waited there. He came out a little while later with another man. They got in a cab together, but I did not hear the address."

Henri looked up at Jack, his face open now, and full of concern. "Phryne? Is she in trouble?" 

Jack looked down at his hands spread out on the table. "I believe so. Thank you for the information Henri. I hope it will help me find her." He stood to leave, then had a thought. "Could you take me to the house on Rue Balzac?" 

****

As Jack entered the lobby of the hotel where he and Mac were staying, he was contemplating his next steps. Henri had not dared to take him to the house on Rue Balzac, nor could he remember the number, but he had given Jack a description of the location. Now Jack needed to determine whether to follow up on that lead in the morning or if there was another more promising lead. He bypassed the front desk, heading directly for the stairs, but was shaken from his thoughts when he realized one of the hotel clerks was chasing after him. 

"Sir? Excuse me, Sir!" 

He turned. "Yes?" The clerk, slightly out of breath, was holding out a large envelope to him. "What's this?" Jack asked. 

"Sorry, Sir. This was left at the front desk for you. Mr. Robinson, yes?" 

Jack nodded and took the envelope. "Who delivered it?" 

"I don't know, Sir. I don't think they gave any name but yours, Sir. Said it was urgent." 

Jack thanked the clerk and looked at the envelope. He inhaled sharply and felt the blood drain from his face. It was addressed to him. In Phryne's handwriting! 

He looked up to ask the clerk whether the messenger had been male or female, but he was gone. Jack hurried to his room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds out just what Phryne was working on, and receives something else she left for him.

When Dr. MacMillan knocked on his door, Jack felt as if he was waking from a trance. He looked at his watch and swore under his breath as he went to the door. Mac did not look pleased. "Dr. MacMillan. Forgive me. I didn't realize the time.” He was annoyed to realize that his voice sounded a bit shaky. “Please." He gestured her in.

She turned to him. "What have you found out? Is she…" Even Mac, for all her brashness, wasn't ready to put her fears into words. 

"I found her trail of bread crumbs," he answered her, then gave his trademark wry half-smirk, "Or, rather, it found me." He gestured toward the room's desk and table, now covered with papers. 

Mac looked at him. "You've been busy. What is all this?" 

Jack handed her the now empty envelope, so she could see the writing. Mac's eyes grew wide, then a knowing smirk lit her face. "That little minx! She left all this for you?!" 

Jack own smirk widened as he nodded. Then he sobered. "But it doesn't look good, Mac." 

****

April 18 

Dear Jack, 

As I am sure you've deduced, I need your help. 

My apologies for the cloak and dagger theatrics. My solicitors have ensured me that their contacts will be watching for you and will deliver this packet to you as soon as you set foot in Paris. 

I know it will be some time before you read this. In fact, I hope you never read this. I hope we can spend a week in Paris with you complaining about my high-handedness in manipulating you into following me halfway around the world. I admit it is ridiculous to ask you for help this way, but there is no one else I trust. If I need help, I will need you, Jack.

I'm enclosing all my notes for the relevant cases since I arrived in London. For what it's worth, if I had had any idea of how far-reaching this was, I never would have gone near it. Unfortunately, I am too far in to back out now without risking more lives than my own and yours, however precious those two might be to me. 

About the letters. I'm sure you've worked out that Mac's was intended to make sure she would talk to you, just in case you weren't convinced. Yours, well, I meant every word. If I don't see you again I wanted you to know how I feel. I love you. 

Now, let's get to work, Inspector.

Phryne 

Jack felt the words like a blow to his gut: "If I don't see you again." Quickly he read through her case notes and the supporting documents. Phryne had been consulted in London on several cases involving items stolen from Jewish families and merchants. While there were similarities between the cases, there was not much evidence of a connection, other than the victims being Jewish, at least until Phryne had arrived in Paris. She had been contacted at the Hotel Baltimore by one of the contacts for a previous case, requesting a meeting. Phryne had assumed it was simply a follow up on that case, rather than something new. She had been wrong. 

The case Evron Blumenthal had outlined for her, when she met him the next day, had started out much like the others. He had made arrangements a week or two before for a shipment of items from a bookshop in a border town in the Rhineland, but the shipment had never arrived in Paris. Worse still, neither had Blumenthal's son who was to have accompanied the shipment along with his wife and 10 year old daughter. Then Blumenthal had received word that his son and daughter-in-law had been found dead. There was no word of their daughter, Rebekka. He had asked Phryne to find his granddaughter and bring her to him in Paris if she was still alive. Anything she could discover about the shipment would be appreciated, but Blumenthal was desperate to know what had happened to his granddaughter.

While they were meeting, there had been a disturbing incident. Two men had stopped outside the bookshop, peering in. Blumenthal had paled when he saw them, but refused to explain. When they caught sight of him, one of the men had made a rude gesture, but then the other had spotted Phryne, and the two men had run off. 

By now Phryne had been suspicious about the Jewish connection among the cases, and had made some inquiries in the Jewish district, at libraries, museums, and art galleries. Every place she asked had been affected to some degree. All kinds of items were going missing. This was much bigger and more systematic than it appeared at first glance. 

Phryne had also seen the same two men at least twice more, lurking near the same locations she was investigating. Worried now, she had talked to Blumenthal about notifying the gendarmes, but he had been reluctant. Phryne had headed to the local station, to notify them herself, but when she sashayed in, she had seen one of the men who had threatened Blumenthal. Clearly he was right not to want to involve the local gendarmes. 

At this point, Phryne had returned to Veronique's flat briefly to warn her, and she had decided to enlist Jack's aid. She had felt she could probably manage without him, but if she did need backup, she had no one else to turn to who she could trust. In a best case scenario, she would have the case all wrapped up and be free to enjoy being in Paris with Jack. Hopefully if she did need him, she would be able to manage until he arrived. 

****

Evron Blumenthal, Phryne's client, owned a bookshop on the Isle de Cite, near Notre Dame. Jack's mouth quirked slightly at the irony of the great cathedral surrounded by the Jewish district in the fourth arrondissement. The little old man behind the counter looked up from his accounts as the bell tinkled.

"May I help you, Monsieur?" 

"Evron Blumenthal?" At the man's cautious nod, Jack added, "I'm Jack Robinson. I believe Miss Fisher mentioned I might come looking for information about her case?" 

Mr. Blumenthal scrutinized Jack carefully, as if searching for some sign in Jack's face and posture. "Case?" he said, seeming puzzled. "She said you might come to claim a scarf she borrowed from you, but you will need to describe it so I am sure it belongs to you," the bookseller challenged, rubbing his chin. 

A smirk twitched at the corner of Jack's mouth; trust Phryne to find a way to confirm Jack's identity. "Yes. My Abbotsford footie scarf. It's striped maroon and dark green." He remembered the look in Phryne's eyes when he had draped that scarf around her neck at the game; oh how he had wanted to kiss her. If only his ex-wife and her father, the Deputy Commissioner, hadn't been there, watching. He wondered how she happened to have had it with her.

Blumenthal nodded solemnly, and added, "She wanted me to ask if you had received the gift she sent." 

Jack nodded. "The whiskey? Or the… less conventional gift?" he asked, unsure if he should mention the lockpicks. "I have them with me," he added hesitantly. 

"May I see? She said it was a match to hers." 

Jack reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the jet handled picks, showing them to the merchant. 

Blumenthal nodded again. "Come with me. We will talk." He walked to the door, locked it, and turned the sign to indicate the shop was closed. Then he led Jack to the back, and they climbed a set of narrow stairs to the man's flat. "I am sorry, my friend," the man said, as he set about preparing coffee. "One cannot be too careful these days. Especially when one is Jewish." 

Jack leaned on the doorframe in the tiny kitchen, with his legs crossed, hands in his pockets. "After reading Phryne's case file, I can understand your caution." 

"I asked Miss Fisher not to go, or at least not to go alone, but to tell the truth, my heart was hoping she would not back down. She is my only chance to see my granddaughter again, Mr. Robinson." The old man placed two cups of coffee on the kitchen table. "Milk? Sugar?" he offered, as he sat at the table and gestured to the other chair. 

Jack added a little milk to his coffee before seating himself and taking a sip. "While I can't say I am happy she went ahead with her plan, I understand her reasoning and your own feelings." He paused, sipping gingerly at the strong, hot brew. He was filled with dread and hope in equal measure as he asked, "Have you heard from her?" 

Blumenthal went to one of the hanging kitchen cabinets and fiddled with something just under the edge until a thin hidden file drawer popped open. He removed two envelopes from among the papers concealed there, closed the drawer, and returned to the table, handing them to Jack. 

"I received the first in the middle of May, one month after she left Paris. The second came two weeks ago. You may keep them. When you are ready to follow her, come see me. I will help you get there." Blumenthal stood and left the room. When he returned, he was carrying the Abbotsford football scarf, which he handed to Jack without comment. He looked weary. "I must go open the shop. It is not good to be closed during the day." The old man opened the door and looked expectantly at Jack.

Jack had been staring at the scarf in his hands, but suddenly realized Blumenthal was waiting for him to leave. Quickly, Jack straightened. "Yes, of course. Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Blumenthal, and the letters. I'll be in touch soon." Jack carefully slid the envelopes into his breast pocket, draped the scarf around his neck, and headed back to his hotel. 

****

The letters were brief and rather vague. There were no names, no specifics, but using the information from her case file, Jack was able to decipher the messages. 

May 14 

E,  
Things are going well. I have taken the position we spoke of. I'm not fond of the husband, but the wife has been very kind. I haven't been able to find the particular item you wanted, but I will keep looking. I have heard of some small ones being sold recently, but haven't seen any myself. I will write again when I know more.  
P 

It seemed she had not been able to locate Rebekka, but was making progress gaining the trust of the wife at the tavern where she was working as part of her cover. The tavern owners would be well-connected in town and might be able to help her. She had had some luck with the second part of her mission - finding the missing shipments of books, artifacts and other items bound for museums and shops in Paris. Certain of the missing items held great sentimental and religious significance, and Blumenthal had wanted those items returned if at all possible. Apparently Phryne had found out that some of the items had been sold, but not much more. Jack would need to clarify with Blumenthal that his only goal was Phryne's safety (and Rebekka's since he was fairly sure Phryne would insist on that). He picked up the second letter. 

June 12 

E,  
I've located the item you wanted and have set it aside for you. I've almost got enough money, and should be able to come home in a few weeks. The weather has been dangerous recently anyway, so it's just as well. I also found one of the smaller items. Strangely enough, it was with the other. A stroke of luck, I suppose. I hope to see you soon.  
P 

So Phryne had found Rebekka, and the girl apparently had one of the missing items. The comment about the weather seemed to indicate some difficulty. Perhaps they were searching for the girl? "A few weeks," she had said. That would be soon. He needed to get to her so he could help them get out. He would update Mac, pack a few things, and see Blumenthal.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack arrives in Freiburg, Germany and finds Phryne, but she's not herself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warning for rape starts with this chapter. The next few chapters will have frank (but not graphic) discussions.
> 
> Please don't hate me!

Jakob Richter drove into Freiburg late in the afternoon, and parked his motorcar outside Der Tanzbar. Inside the door, he paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark room. A woman's voice greeted him from the other side of the room, but it wasn't Phryne's. "Guten tag." 

"Guten tag," he replied, crossing the mostly empty common room. "Can a weary traveler get a drink here, Frau? I am Herr Richter." There were a few old men at the bar, the regulars who likely only left when the door was locked behind them. Jack assumed the after work crowd was yet to arrive. 

"Ja. Of course, Herr Richter. We have rooms as well, if you’re staying?" The woman behind the bar was short, and almost as wide as she was tall. She had wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, as if from laughter, and wore a broad smile. 

"Ja. Danke, Frau…" 

"Frau Kaufman." She told him the price of a room, and pulled him a mug of beer. Jack came to lean on the bar, and set his bag on the floor by his feet. When she brought him the beer, he took a long drink, smiled and thanked her, handing over payment for both. "Looks like you needed that, deary! Come far, have you?” Not pausing for an answer, the woman continued, “Probably want a lie down before dinner, eh? When you’re ready, Herr Richter, I’ll show you the room." Jack drained the mug, and straightened, retrieving his bag.

"Do you run this tavern by yourself, Frau Kaufman?" he asked, as she led him toward the stairway on one side of the room. 

"Nein. My husband had business in town this afternoon, but he’ll be back soon. Just the two of us, we took over from my father several years ago, now, God rest his soul." 

"It must get busy in the evenings. You must have other help?" He knew he was being too obvious, and cursed his impatience. 

She gave him a measuring look, as she opened the door to his room. He was a bit taller than average, with a slim build. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, giving her a view of hard muscles in his forearms. His hair, a medium brown, had a slight wave. He was handsome, but didn't seem aware of it. His German was good, but held a slight accent she couldn't place. She handed him the key. "We do have other help, Herr Richter,” she said, seeming a bit less friendly than before. “But not of the unsavory variety. We serve dinner starting at 7." With that, she left him to get settled. He felt a twinge of relief. At least Phryne's duties weren't of the "unsavory variety." He left his bag, locked the room, and went to retrieve the rest of his things from the car.

****

Felicite Fischer was in the kitchen, finishing the luncheon cleanup when Frau Kaufman entered. "Felicite, we have a guest." Phryne turned quickly, her hands dripping on the floor, and looked at Judith, who answered her unasked question, "I'm not sure. Perhaps. Why don't you take some clean linens up?" 

Phryne dried her shaking hands. She took several deep breaths, then made her way to the linen storage and up the stairs. She knocked hesitantly on the door, but there was no answer. Nervously she raised her hand to knock again, and heard a sharp gasp behind her. She spun around, her eyes wide, hand still raised, and saw him. Jack! She felt tears flooding her eyes as she threw herself at him. 

Her hands were everywhere, she was making incoherent noises, sobbing, and kissing his face. Shocked, he rubbed her back, making shushing sounds, trying to calm her. "I'm here, love. Shhhh." 

Abruptly Phryne pulled away. "Jack!" she said, awkwardly, "I'm so glad you came!" She tried to make it sound as if he had just stopped by for a nightcap, but her voice was broken from her tears. She picked nervously at the apron she was still wearing.

Jack reached out and gently touched her cheek. "Oh, Phryne," he breathed. He glanced around. "Are you expected back somewhere? Is it all right for you to be here?"

Phryne gathered her thoughts. She hated to be dependent on anyone, but seeing Jack had made all her repressed emotions burst free - all the stress, worry and fear of the last months. And it had felt very good in Jack's arms. Until it hadn't. "Judith knows I've been hoping you would come. She sent me to see if it was you. I have a little time, but we should move out of the hall." 

Jack nodded and opened the door to usher her into his room, closing it behind them. Phryne added, aiming for a flirtatious tone, "I shouldn’t be seen coming out of your room. We don't want anyone to get suspicious." Her voice cracked and she swallowed and turned away so he wouldn't see the sudden tears in her eyes.

"Phryne?" Jack asked, sounding worried, "Are you— ?" 

Phryne interrupted him with a kiss. It was soft and tender, at first, quickly growing more heated and desperate. Jack pulled back reluctantly, breaking the kiss, breathing heavily. "Phryne," he said, huskily, "Please. I've been so worried, so afraid. My self-control is not at its best." 

She could see he was worried about her too. ‘He knows me too well,’ she thought ruefully. A shadow crossed her face, gone quickly as she arched an eyebrow and smoldered at him, "Really, Jack? That is very unusual." In a more casual voice she added, "I need to go anyway. We should meet to discuss the case. If there are no other guests, I can meet you here later. I'll let you know at dinner." 

Jack looked uncomfortable. He knew something was wrong. "Miss Fisher, I don't think we should…" He gave her a pleading look, entreating her to understand. "There's so much we need to discuss, but— “ 

To his amazement and dismay, she looked hurt, then something like shame took its place. She turned away from him, and said, "Of course. In the mornings I walk along the edge of the forest. You can find me there." She turned to the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. 

"Phryne!" he protested. She was not herself, and he didn't know how to react to this Phryne. 

She glared at his hand on her arm, and he let go as if scorched. She turned again. 

He couldn't just let her leave, after everything he— they— had been through! He stepped behind her, turning her with one hand on her waist, the other reaching to tangle in her silky black bob, and he kissed her with a fierceness and desperation he could never put into words. She froze for a moment in shock, then pulled away with a wordless cry. The look of pure terror in her eyes was like a dagger to his heart. Without another sound Phryne bolted from the room. By the time Jack took the two steps to the open doorway, she was gone. 

****

Phryne almost flew down the stairs into the common room, trying to hold back the tears, while she cursed herself for a fool. Why was she running from Jack? The only man she had truly trusted since her abusive relationship with René DuBois more than ten years ago. She was in love with Jack, for heaven's sake, although Lord knew she had denied it for a long time. She stopped abruptly when she saw the man behind the bar. 

Anselm Kaufman had returned while she was upstairs. He looked up at her, then glanced up the stairs, his eyes narrowing. "Frau Kaufman said we have a guest. I hope you haven't scared him off!" He licked his lips and slowly looked Phryne up and down in a way that made her shudder. 

"Sorry, Herr Kaufman," she murmured, her eyes downcast, "I took up the linens. I thought he was out, but he surprised me on the stairs." 

"Hmph!" came the reply, but he didn't press her, and she scurried into the kitchen. 

Judith was kneading dough for the evening's bread when Phryne came in, and she waited until the door closed before asking softly, "Is it him, Liebchen?" 

Phryne nodded, and felt tears rising again. She cursed under her breath. What was wrong with her? 

The big woman gave her a look filled with sympathy, before saying, "Well, Fraulein, I hope he's as good a man as you think." 

Phryne hoped so too. 

****

Jack was deeply worried for Phryne. The detective in him was putting together the clues, and Jack did not like the conclusion he was coming to one little bit. All his instincts told him she had been sexually assaulted. His hands clenched into fists as he tried to accept this horrifying turn of events, but he needed to deal with his anger or he would not be able to help her. If she sensed anger in him, even though it was not directed at her, she would pull away. He needed to project calmness, love and safety. He wanted to find whoever had done this and tear them to little shreds. He took deep breaths, then locking the door he stripped to his shorts and singlet, and threw himself into a punishing exercise routine as an outlet for that anger, wishing he had a speed bag to punch. Or better yet, Phryne's assailant. When his stomach told him it was dinnertime he was dripping with sweat, but as he cleaned himself up he thought he could see her serving in the common room without causing a scene. 

****

The common room seemed especially full to Phryne as she bustled to and from the kitchen carrying food and drinks. Jack had come down at some point, but thankfully Anselm had been busy and hadn't noticed. She had managed to confirm he should meet her by the big rock on the edge of the woods in the morning, while avoiding any other conversation with him. Thankfully he hadn't said anything about her behavior earlier, although she knew him too well to think he hadn't noticed or had forgotten. By the time the common room emptied and the kitchen was clean, Phryne fell into her bed, exhausted.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets Herr Kaufman, and he and Phryne go for a walk.

When Jack came down the stairs to the common room in the morning, he observed the tavern owner behind the bar. He hadn't had a chance to talk to the man yesterday, but Jack's new understanding of Phryne's situation made him wary of Herr Kaufman. The tavern didn’t serve breakfast, and the bar didn’t open until later in the morning, so Jack and Kaufman were the only ones there at present - there was no chance of slipping out unseen.

Anselm looked up when he heard Jack on the stairs. "Ah! Herr Richter! Guten morgen!" he greeted as he wiped a glass with a clean cloth. The pleasantness in his voice didn't seem to reach his eyes, which drilled into Jack intently. 

The man was almost as wide as his wife, but where her bulk was soft, Anselm’s was hard muscle. In the Middle Ages the man could have been a blacksmith. And where Judith exuded friendliness, her husband gave off an air of menace. ‘I guess opposites do attract,’ Jack thought.

"Guten morgen, Herr Kaufman," Jack replied, coldly polite. The man was definitely a brute. The thought of Phryne trapped working in this place, under that man, threatened to consume him. Was this the man who had hurt her, he wondered.

"Did you sleep well, Herr Richter?" there seemed to be an edge to the simple question, as if the man were hinting at something. He picked up another glass and began wiping it.

"Ja, Herr Kaufman, danke. You run a fine establishment," Jack answered. He moved over to the bar and leaned against it casually. "I have business with Herr Colonel Hoefler today, but this is my first time in Freiburg. Could you perhaps direct me?" He might as well establish his cover right away.

Anselm's eyes widened slightly at the Colonel's name, and his voice took on a more obsequious tone as he replied, "Ja, of course, Herr Richter." After providing Jack with directions to the Colonel's office, Anselm added, "You will let us know, Herr Richter, if there is anything else you need tonight, ja?" His eyes turned calculating. "Company, perhaps? The French girl who served you dinner, last night? Quite a feast, ja?"

Jack struggled to contain his disgust and fury. He looked at the man questioningly. "Ja, indeed, but when I arrived, your wife said— err, I was given to understand she was not… available?" 

Anselm glowered, slamming the clean glass onto the bar. "Judith is not in charge here. And if I say she is available, then she is available."

"And what about the woman? What does she say?" Jack was growing more uneasy by the second. They needed to get Phryne out of here as soon as possible.

The man gave a lascivious grin and picked up another glass. "That depends on you, Herr Richter. A real man can make her say anything he wants, eh?"

Jack wanted to wipe that grin off the bastard's face, but he had to continue playing his part. He gave a brief smirk of his own. "I admit, I'd be glad of the company, but if my business with the Herr Colonel goes well I will be passing through here regularly. I don't want to get on Frau Kaufman's bad side at the very beginning. And I would prefer the woman came willingly." That was an understatement, Jack thought.

The other man's grin disappeared, replaced with a dark glower. "You let me deal with her." Jack wasn't sure if he meant Judith or Phryne, but Kaufman's expression did not bode well for either. The man finished wiping the glasses, and draped the cloth over one shoulder. "I'll make sure the girl is ready for you," Anselm promised, with relish.

Covering the chill that stabbed at him, Jack stood and laughingly chided him. "Now, Herr Kaufman! Don't you spoil her for me! I want her fresh and rested, not already worn out!" Abruptly he stopped laughing, and leaned across the bar, closer to the man. "If there is one mark on her body I will take it out of your hide. Do you understand me, Herr Kaufman?" He put all his anger and loathing into his eyes, and felt the brute shrink away.

Anselm looked at Jack with new caution in his eyes. "Of course, Herr Richter. Would you, perhaps, prefer to approach her yourself?" 

Jack pretended to consider. "Perhaps that would be best," he agreed.

****

At first light, Phryne usually went for a walk by herself along the edge of the Black Forest before doing the marketing and getting back to the tavern by midmorning. Today, however, as Judith pushed the market basket into her hands, the big woman whispered, "Take your time. Just be back for lunch, Liebchen." Phryne had given her a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off to meet Jack.

He was lounging in the morning sun on top of the big rock. She nodded to herself with approval, both at the sight of him stretched out in the sun like a cat, and at his well-chosen excuse to wait for her. "Guten morgen, Herr Richter," she greeted him, indicating he should remain in character.

"Guten morgen, Fraulein," he replied, sitting up. "I was just enjoying the morning sun. Did Frau Kaufman send you to the market?" When she nodded, Jack slid down the rock to stand beside her. "I was hoping to buy some supplies. Do you mind if I accompany you?"

When Phryne nodded again, he smiled warmly, and took the basket from her hand. She started to protest, but he caught her hand in his free one, and very slowly brought it to his lips. She froze and held her breath, her eyes widening, but she allowed the kiss. He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and together they walked slowly back toward the market in town.

They walked in silence, just enjoying being together after so long apart. Jack could feel the tension slowly draining out of her. When she wrapped her hand around his arm the way she used to in Melbourne, he said in a low voice, carefully not looking at her, "When you’re ready to talk about it, Phryne, I’m ready to listen." As she caught her breath and tensed again, he added, "Nothing you can say will change the way I care for you. You are the strongest person I know, but you don't have to face this alone. I want to help."

He risked a glance at her. Her eyes were bright with tears, and she was obviously struggling with her emotions. She hadn't let go of his arm though, and that seemed like a good sign. She saw him watching her, and gave a small, jerky nod. He nodded to himself. It was a step. She hadn't denied it, and she hadn't rejected him.

They were quiet for a little longer, then Phryne broached the subject of the case. "You read the file? You know why I came?"

Jack nodded. "Did you find her?" he asked, not wanting to say the girl's name in case they were being watched.

"Yes." Phryne paused, debating how much to tell him. She sighed, almost sadly. This was Jack. He would know if she tried to gloss over anything. She knew what she had to say would hurt him, and she would give anything to avoid that, but he had already seen through her (admittedly weak) attempts to hide it. Finally she said, "Promise me you won't do anything without talking to me first."

A mutinous look of outrage crossed his face, but was gone in a flash, followed by understanding and acceptance. He knew she was trying to protect him. Inwardly he shook his head at this beautiful, selfless woman, worrying about keeping him safe while she tried to deal with her assault on her own. He nodded his agreement, then added, "But that goes for you too." For this case, at least, they were partners, equals, and would make decisions together. 

She gave a small smile, and nodded back. "There's a glade where we can meet, if we go separately. I'm being watched. Follow the path behind the rock, and bear left at the fork. I'll meet you in half an hour."

As they entered the marketplace, Phryne removed her hand from his arm, and Jack turned to her. "Danke for the walk, Fraulein. Perhaps I will see you at Der Tanzbar this evening." He gave her a slight bow, and made his way into the market to find the supplies he needed for their journey back to Paris. He made sure to inquire about finding berries in the forest.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne tells Jack what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains non-graphic discussion of a rape. Please avoid if this will disturb you.

When Jack arrived in the glade, Phryne came out to greet him. He took both her hands in his, bringing them each to his lips in turn, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt a little shiver run through her body, and for the first time in weeks, it was not from fear. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling. They were far from safe, but at least she was no longer alone.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her, his own eyes dark with desire, and soft with love. "Phryne," he said softly, "I am so very glad to see you."

Tears pricked her eyes. She only hoped he still felt the same once he knew. He was a good man. Surely he wouldn't blame her. But he had been through so much, with the war and his divorce. He didn't deserve to have to nurse her through this. She wouldn't blame him if he decided she was too much trouble; she always had been, and now it was ten times worse. Now, she was broken. She didn't deserve this good man, and he deserved far better than her. She took a deep breath. Best get this over with. She sat on the edge of the clearing, with her back against a big oak tree, and waited for him to get comfortable.

“I arrived toward the end of April. Evron arranged a ride for me from Colmar, across the river. My ride confirmed what Evron had said - that the tavern might be open to temporary help - but he also told me to talk to the wife rather than the husband if I didn't want to warm beds on the side. Judith agreed to take me on. I told her I had come to Germany for a new life but things hadn't worked out and now I was working my way back to France. She told me to be wary of her husband, but that she would warn him off me.” Phryne picked up an oak leaf and fiddled with it, twisting the stem in her fingers.

“As I gained Judith's trust, I realized that she was a pillar of the Jewish community here, and my best source for information, in spite of Anselm, whom no one likes or trusts. So I told her why I was really here, and I asked her about Rebekka.” Phryne sighed and dropped the leaf, wrapping her arms around one bent knee, and extending the other leg. The position lifted up her skirt a bit, and Jack hastily raised his gaze to Phryne’s face. Her eyes seemed to be focused on her knee, and she didn’t notice his discomfort.

“The Nazis are developing a strong presence throughout the Rhineland. Josef and Ada Blumenthal had decided to move to Paris, and were escorting their last shipment to Evron's shop themselves. When they left their shop on the edge of Freiburg they were set upon by Brownshirts.”

Phryne paused and looked at Jack. He didn't say anything, but the quirk of his eyebrow suggested he probably had the same question she had had in the beginning, so she explained before continuing her story.

“The Brownshirts are the Nazis’ thugs. They all believe the same rubbish, but the Brownshirts are the brawn while the Nazis are the brains.”

She looked down and the sides of her black bob fell around her face like a curtain. “Anyway, by chance Rebekka - Rivka - had slipped away to return home for a forgotten toy. When she returned, she found her parents murdered by the side of the road. Somehow she managed to find her way to a friend's house, but she was too traumatized to speak. They kept her overnight, and in the morning they heard about her parents, and realized they would want the girl dead too. They took her in and kept her out of sight.

“It worked for a few days. Then one night Rivka slipped out. When she returned the next day, she was carrying a crown - a religious artifact - and Hoefler’s men were out in force searching for her. She seems to have managed to get into the Nazi headquarters and the warehouse area where some of the artifacts and other items are stored. She may have overheard Colonel Hoefler discussing plans but we don’t really know, since she still refuses to speak.”

Phryne paused, shifting her position so her legs were folded to one side the way she often sat on her chaise lounge in Melbourne. “The Nazis have been terrorizing Jews throughout the Rhineland - leading members of the Jewish community and people with collections of art or connections to museums or libraries. They want to ‘encourage’ Jews to leave Germany, and whenever possible, they confiscate anything valuable. Most of it is sold on the black market throughout Europe, but items that are more distinctive or easier to trace are disposed of in other ways. Some are given to party members, some metal pieces - like the crown Rivka found - are melted down. In the end, it is all to raise money for the Nazi party throughout Germany. At the moment, German Jews can vote, but if the Nazis can reduce Jewish numbers by scaring them into fleeing, they have a better chance of gaining power. And once the Nazis gain power, well…” Phryne picked up a twig and began scratching in the dirt with it.

“When Rivka saw the crown, she must have recognized it from special services at the synagogue. So she took it, and returned to the home where she had been hiding. But now that they were looking for her, things were too dangerous for her to stay where she had been. Another family offered an attic space with a hidey hole. That's where she was when I arrived. Judith was helping the family, offering a bit of extra food now and then.” Her scratching turned more focused. She was digging a small trench with the twig now. It was the only sign of emotion she gave.

“But it seems Hoefler knew all along where Rivka was. He thought having an extra mouth to feed and the stress of keeping her hidden would lower morale among the Jews. With the war reparations, things are very tight all over Germany, and many families are barely getting by as it is. Any extra financial pressure could tip the balance. He was just waiting for the right moment to do the most damage to the Jewish community.”

So far Phryne had spoken in a detached, unemotional manner, but now she faltered. She dropped the twig, and hugged her knees to her chest. Her voice was soft, not much more than a whisper, and Jack strained to hear. He wanted to reach out to her, but knew that might frighten her more than comfort her right now.

“One night I broke into Hoefler's warehouse. I was looking for proof of a broader conspiracy, or for some of the items Evron or my contacts in London had described. I knew the cases from London and Paris were all connected, but I still couldn't prove it.” Her voice turned bitter as she added, “And I still thought I would be able to take that proof to someone - some authority figure - and they would put an end to it.”

Phryne paused for so long Jack didn't think she was going to continue. He longed to stretch his legs, which were cramped from sitting on the ground for so long. He hadn’t dared move for fear of distracting her. Finally she started speaking again. 

“They were waiting for me, Jack. As I closed the door behind me, the lights came on, someone slid home the bolt, and there was Colonel Hoefler, holding a gun to Rivka's temple. I walked right into their trap. I had no choice. He said if I struggled he would kill her. I let them rape me. I just lay there and let them!”

Her voice was ragged, and full of pain. Jack's heart broke for her, and as he watched the tears roll down her cheeks, he realized he had tears on his cheeks as well. He very slowly reached one hand toward her. She let him take her hand, staring at the entwined fingers as if she didn't quite comprehend whose they were. He saw when she did, and he flinched at the self-loathing he saw in her face as she hurriedly dropped his hand and wrapped her arms around herself again.

“I don't know how many there were. I lost consciousness at some point. When I woke, Hoefler explained the situation to me. I would return to the tavern and continue working for Anselm. I would not give them any trouble, or Rivka would die. I was in pain - physically and emotionally. I couldn't resist. I did as he told me.” She shuddered as she remembered.

“Every so often they show Rivka to me, to prove she is still alive and they still have her - that they still control me. They used to bring her to the tavern for a meal. I wasn't allowed to serve her or speak to her, but I could see that she was well. Or one of her guards would walk her along the edge of the woods in the morning, and I would see her there. They haven't… touched me again, but they make sure I know they could.” Phryne took a deep breath.

“But I'm not sure now… I don't think she is alive any longer. The last time they brought her to the tavern, she looked pale. It's been almost two weeks since then. The guard has walked with her by the woods, but I haven't been able to get a good look at her face. I can't tell for sure if it's her.”

The tears were still running down Phryne's face as she concluded. "So, in the end, it was all for nothing."

Jack knew he had to say something. He knew that deep down she understood this was not her fault, but he also knew she needed to hear it from him, needed to hear that this did not change anything between them. "Phryne. Look at me." As she slowly lifted her eyes to his, he put everything he felt for her into his expression - admiration for her courage, sorrow for her trauma, amazement at her selflessness, but most of all love. Then he took a deep breath and put his heart in her hands; fragile as it was, hers was more so right now, and she had just opened it to him. "Phryne, I love you. I have for a long time now. This doesn’t change that." 

He reached out and took her hands in his, rubbing the backs with his thumbs, and continued, "The only ones to blame for this are the bastards who did this to you. You are not to blame. You know that." He could see the doubt in her eyes, and racked his brain for the right words to convince her. "What would Mac say?" he asked her.

Phryne took a breath, pulled her hands away from him and wrapped them around her knees again. She looked at the ground, and whispered, "It's not Mac I'm worried about."

Jack shook his head, "No one who matters will blame you, Phryne. And no one needs to know unless you want them to." She didn't look convinced. How could he reach her?

"In the war, I killed men, boys - someone’s fathers, sons, brothers, lovers. I had no choice." He swallowed, tears rising again to his eyes. "Do you blame me? Or the soldiers you nursed?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head. She wasn't convinced, but he had gotten her attention. 

"What about Jane, stealing food, coins, anything she could get her hands on. Is she to blame?"

Again, Phryne shook her head. Her foster daughter, Jane, had been a child, manipulated by the adults who were supposed to care for her.

"Or Dorothy? She helped in an attempted bank robbery."

Phryne actually snorted at that one, and he granted her a little smirk. Her companion Dottie had been taken hostage and held at gunpoint while her captors attempted to rob a bank.

Now the big one. "How about Alice? The law prescribes 10-15 years of prison for procuring an abortion."

Finally Phryne found her voice. "Jack! She was raped— " she broke off as she realized what she was saying and the implications. Alice had been raped by her employer. When she became pregnant, she had tried to obtain an illegal abortion and almost died when it was botched. Phryne was the one who had suggested a way for her to help convict the abortionist without going to gaol herself, claiming she changed her mind in the waiting room, and that the abortionist had refused to listen. Phryne was the one who had convinced Alice she was not to blame and to use her pain to help bring that bastard to justice.

If Alice was not at fault for her situation, then how could Phryne blame herself? She had had no choice. If she had resisted, Rivka would have been killed right in front of her. Even if Rivka had died later, there was nothing Phryne could have done to prevent it. The only ones to blame were the men who had done the deed.

Phryne felt a lightening of the load on her shoulders. It wasn't gone by any means, but the burden was lighter. She had known it was not her fault, deep down, but stuck here for weeks, in constant fear, unable to leave… her fears had been stronger than that knowledge. Now the balance was turning. She shook her head slowly as she remarked, "Oh, Jack. Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Let's see… breaking and entering, trespass on the scene of a crime, tampering with evidence, assaulting a police officer… Should I go on?" He was immensely relieved at the changes he saw in her demeanor. It wasn't over by any means, and this would be a long road, but it was a good start.

Phryne rolled her eyes at him, some of her old humor filtering through. "You know very well I don't resort to 'breaking,' Jack. I prefer to use my skills at picking locks." She paused, then gave him an odd look. "Did you get… ?" He smiled and reached into his pocket. When he pulled out the set of picks she had sent him, she gave a soft, "Oh!" and looked pleased.

Jack cocked his head and gave her his wry grin and a sidelong look. "I believe you promised me lessons on improving my… technique?" He wasn't sure she was ready for their old bantering, but it had been such an integral part of her character, and their relationship, that he hoped it would feel safe to her.

To his delight, she smiled back at him wickedly. "I believe I offered to critique any methods you cared to apply, Inspector. And, for future reference, just how much alcohol did it take for you to write that letter?"

Jack blushed. He knew she would never let him live that down. "More than we have available at the moment," he managed. He stood and held out his hand to help her up. "We should probably head back to town." He paused, then added, with lowered eyes, "Although I really don't want to let you out of my sight, let alone take you back into that hell. But I'm assuming you want to find out for sure whether Rivka is alive."

Phryne nodded as he helped her stand, keeping hold of his hand and squeezing it. "Jack, just knowing you’re here makes me feel so much better. I'm not alone any more. And we'll do what we do best, together." She came closer and carefully wrapped her arms around Jack's waist. She looked up into his beautiful, expressive eyes and said softly, "I meant what I said in my letters. Being separated from you for so long made me realize that I love you." She moved her face closer to his, until they were a hair's breadth from touching, and smoldered at him, "And I spent a lot of time imagining what I would do with you when I finally saw you again." Jack swallowed, his eyes locked to hers. She cupped his cheek in her hand, stroking his face with her thumb, relishing the feel of his skin and the shudder she felt pass through him.

Jack was having a hard time maintaining his self-control. All he wanted to do was kiss her and never stop, but he was afraid to touch her - for both their sakes. He forced his arms to stay by his side, closed his eyes, and managed to whisper, huskily, "Phryne, you know I would never force you or ask you for more than you are willing to give, but please," he begged, "I'm only a man. And I'm a little… distraught right now."

Phryne stepped back with a sad smile. Not so long ago she would have ravished him on the spot. With a hint of her old self, she quipped, "Give me a good head start?"

Jack smirked as he shook himself in relief. "As always," he replied. His body was screaming at the loss of her, but he was amazed at how far she had come in just a short time. He knew now that she would recover. He just wasn't sure he could survive the torture while she did.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack establishes his cover, while Phryne stumbles on a murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to rape.

Jack knew he needed to check in with Colonel Hoefler to maintain his cover. He wasn't sure how he was going to remain calm around the bastards who had hurt Phryne so badly, but he knew their best chance of learning the truth about Rivka depended on it. And for Phryne he thought he could do just about anything. He stopped off at his room to retrieve his papers, and headed for Hoefler's office. 

"Guten tag, Herr," Jack greeted the tall, blond young man at the front desk. "Jakob Richter to see Herr Colonel Hoefler. I'm the new courier." Jack could hear the familiar sounds of a police station coming from down the hall behind the desk, and noted the Colonel’s office was just off the bullpen area where the young man had been doing paperwork. Apparently the Colonel was not only the head of the Nazi Party in Freiburg, but also the head of local law enforcement. ‘Great,’ thought Jack, sarcastically, ‘Just what I needed.’

"Guten tag. One moment, Herr Richter." The man knocked briefly, then slipped noiselessly into the Colonel’s office, leaving Jack alone in the reception area. Jack was tempted to poke around the desk, but he knew he wouldn't be left alone for long, and from Phryne's story he knew these men were suspicious, well-informed and dangerous. He needed to stick to his story scrupulously. 

The whole office reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and Jack tried not to breathe too deeply while he waited. When the Colonel’s office door opened, Jack was looking at one of the pictures on the wall. It showed a group of men with the Nazi symbol behind them. "That was taken last fall, Herr Richter," said a voice rough from years of smoking. "Herr Hitler himself is standing next to me on the end." A man in a Colonel's uniform with grizzled, close-cut hair and a weathered appearance approached Jack and introduced himself. "Colonel Hoefler," he said, extending his hand for Jack to shake. 

Jack shook the Colonel's nicotine-stained hand firmly. "Jakob Richter, Herr Colonel. It’s good to meet you." The Colonel turned, and Jack followed him into his office, adding, "I had no idea you knew Herr Hitler, Colonel. One doesn't expect it in the smaller towns like this." 

The Colonel gave a tight-lipped smile, and gestured to a chair as he sat down behind his desk and picked up an already-lit gasper. "There is strategic importance in border towns such as this one, Herr Richter," the officer chided him. "Your credentials?" 

Jack handed over the paperwork, and asked, "Do you know Herr Hitler well?" 

Colonel Hoefler scanned Jack's papers while he answered, "Not well, no. I met him in Munich where that picture was taken. He is most eloquent, Herr Richter. And you? What is your connection to the Nazi party?"

Jack answered the Colonel's questions, trying to convince him of the veracity of the cover story: that he had been loosely associated with the Nazi party for several years, and had recently volunteered to work with their contacts in Saint-Denis, outside of Paris. He had been assigned to work as a courier between the border towns and Paris, since, he ruefully admitted, his French wasn't as good as he thought.

By the end of the interview, Colonel Hoefler seemed to accept Jack's story. He said he was expecting additional cargo in a few days' time. If Jack were able to wait a few days before leaving, the Colonel would make it worth his while. As they were discussing the arrangements, the young officer tapped on the door to Hoefler's office. “What is it, Schmidt?” the Colonel asked. The young man entered, and whispered urgently in his superior's ear. The Colonel stubbed out his cigarette, and ushered Jack out, bidding him return the next morning. 

Jack was hopeful that he and Phryne would be able to find out about Rivka before Hoefler had a cargo ready for him. Then if she was still alive, they would have to figure out a way to get her out. He was deep in thought as he returned to the tavern.

****

When Phryne arrived back at the tavern, she went straight to the kitchen to begin work, but strangely, Judith wasn't there. It was midmorning by now, and she and Judith usually started preparing for lunch at this time. She hadn’t seen Anselm when she passed through the common room either, which frankly was a relief. She began working and was kneading bread dough when she heard an odd noise from the common room. Wiping her hands on her apron, Phryne cautiously opened the door. "Herr Kaufman? Is that you?" Only a dull clunking answered her, and she entered the room. Behind the bar, she found Anselm Kaufman, dead.

A few minutes later, Jack found Phryne crouched over the body. "Well, well, Miss Fisher. I knew there was something missing from this reunion. Trust you to find a murder."

Phryne smirked up at him. "As usual, Jack, murder found me." 

"Have you called anyone? And please tell me you haven't touched anything."

"Not yet. I just came out of the kitchen and found him," she answered, then added, somewhat unnecessarily, "He's been stabbed."

"Mmmm. Nasty. Would have taken a while for him to die. How long have you been back?"

"Only 10 minutes or so. He must have already been lying here when I came in, but I was in a hurry and didn't see him. I was working in the kitchen and heard something out here. When I came to see what it was, I found him." Phryne felt like her old self for the first time in far too long. She pointed to a large wooden beer stein carved with a dancing bear, which was lying on the floor. "That's probably what I heard. It sounded like wood. And it sounded hollow, not solid. He must have knocked it over at the end."

"Looks like this wasn't premeditated," observed Jack, nodding at the broken bottle that had provided the murder weapon. A large, jagged piece of glass was still protruding from the victim's stomach. He glanced at his companion. "You do realize you're a suspect, Miss Fisher?" 

She nodded absently, still studying the scene. "Look, Jack!" Phryne pointed to several drops of blood between the body and the door. "He cut himself! The killer was bleeding!"

Jack shook himself. "Phryne!" he snapped, his voice finally cutting into her thoughts. "We need to get the proper authorities. The longer we delay the more suspicious it looks. Come on, we'll go together."

"Jack!" she protested, "We can't leave the crime scene not secured!"

"Phryne," Jack warned, "We aren't in charge here. We are, in fact, suspects. And we are trying to leave town. We are not supposed to be detectives who would know about securing anything."

Phryne looked at Jack, surprised, but realized he was right. "Alright. Let me grab the key from the kitchen."

****

Jack and Phryne watched the Colonel's men work, while the two of them sat at a corner table, waiting to be questioned. The smell of the Colonel's cigarettes announced his arrival, and Phryne went quite pale, trembling. Jack realized the distinctive scent had probably thrown her into flashbacks of her ordeal, much like shell shock. He gently reached out to her, and she grabbed his hand and clung to it like a drowning man clings to a branch. Hoefler made it clear he would prefer Jack left, but Phryne mutely refused to release Jack's hand. Phryne managed to give her statement clearly and concisely, if quietly, and finally freed Jack's hand to return to the kitchen where by now it was time to start preparations for dinner.

"You seem to have become quite attached to this French Fraulein, Herr Richter," Colonel Hoefler observed coolly once she was gone.

Jack cleared his throat. "Ja, Herr Colonel. My apologies. She… approached me when I arrived yesterday. Offered me… certain… favors, if I took her with me when I left for France." He blushed.

Hoefler chuckled. "I see. So you wanted to protect your… investment?"

Jack chuckled weakly and blushed again.

"But there is still the matter of Herr Kaufman. Were you also… approached… by him with an offer of Fraulein Fischer's company?" Colonel Hoefler questioned.

Jack acknowledged the offer Anselm had made him. "She had already agreed to leave town with me. Herr Kaufman was no threat to that, so I had no reason to want him dead. Besides, I expect to be traveling through here regularly, and I wouldn't want to alienate the townspeople or you and your men." He shrugged, and asked, "Do you know when he was stabbed?"

Colonel Hoefler frowned, blowing cigarette smoke in Jack's face. "I don't see how that is any of your business, Herr Richter."

"Again, my apologies Herr Colonel," said Jack, "It's just that I remember from my time in the war that a stomach wound like that usually takes a long time to kill someone. And before I returned here, I was in your office, Herr Colonel."

"Hmmm," mused Colonel Hoefler. "Well, Herr Richter, that is all for now. I expect this will be cleared up by the time you are ready to leave."

Jack nodded. "Of course, Herr Colonel. Danke."

****

The young man watched from the shadows across the street as Colonel Hoefler and his men swarmed over the tavern. He only wished that Monsieur Blumenthal's friends hadn't been the ones to find Kaufman's body. He hoped they weren't blamed. They had as much reason to hate Kaufman as he did, but he didn't want them to pay for his crime.

He looked at the deep cut on his hand. He really needed to get that tended to. He turned and slipped further into the shadows to head back to where he was staying, with Frau Abrahams.

Frau Abrahams looked worried as she tended the wound on Daniel's hand. News of Herr Kaufman's death had traveled fast. Daniel tried to explain, "Kaufman was spying for the Nazis. He was the one who told them where Rivka was!" 

The woman clucked her tongue at him, but didn't reply. This young man was practically still a boy, no older than her own son when he had gone away to war. Daniel had seemed so sweet when he told her about playing with Rivka in Paris when her family visited. He had insisted he was there to bring the girl back to Paris with him, and she had been a bit doubtful, but had let him stay.

Now this! She wasn't sorry the tavern owner was dead. He had been a nasty one, even without the spying, and if Daniel was right he had done them all a favor. Still, murder was murder, and Frau Abrahams wasn't sure she was comfortable sharing her home with a murderer. Of course, she wasn't exactly comfortable telling one to leave either. Worse, she thought, he didn't seem particularly clever, which was liable to bring the Nazi wrath down on the whole community. Maybe it was time for a visit to her sister in Heidelberg.

****

Judith had returned late, and seemed bewildered by all the activity. When she learned of her husband's death, the big woman had all but collapsed onto a nearby chair. She was dry-eyed, but her usually cheerful expression had been replaced by a blank look. She was clearly in shock. Colonel Hoefler questioned her carefully about where she had been. She said she had picked some berries and taken them and some baked goods to a friend with a sick child. She and the other woman had sat talking and she had lost track of time. Once Hoefler was done with her, Judith had calmly posted a sign on the door, announcing the tavern was closed until further notice, and joined Phryne in the kitchen.

Together they prepared dinner for themselves and Jack, the only guest that night, wordlessly agreeing not to speak yet of what had happened. When the meal was ready, the three ate in the kitchen. Hoefler's men had taken the body, but left everything else, and neither of the women had been able to face the scrubbing needed behind the bar.

With Anselm gone, however, the mood around the table was somewhat lighter, and Phryne was able to properly introduce Jack to Judith. Even so, Judith’s normally cheerful disposition had been dampened, and none of them had much of an appetite, picking at the food without interest. Soon enough, the conversation drifted to the murder.

"Do you know who might have wanted to harm Herr Kaufman?" asked Jack.

The big woman snorted. "Anyone who knew him. Including Felicite here, I imagine."

Phryne nodded, adding, "And you, Judith?"

She shrugged. "Of course," she acknowledged. 

Jack grimaced. "And me," he admitted, thinking of the dead man offering him Phryne to warm his bed.

Phryne glanced at Jack, surprised, then turned back to Judith. "I assume you didn't, though?"

"Nein, Liebchen, I truly was at Frau Samuels' house."

Phryne looked to Jack and raised an eyebrow. He smiled slightly at her unasked question. "I was meeting with Colonel Hoefler," he offered.

"So I am the only one without an alibi," Phryne mused. "And I walked right past the bar, never realizing he was already lying there."

"The 'weapon' came from a bottle that was recently broken, possibly during a struggle," the Detective Inspector observed. "Had you noticed anything different in his behavior recently, Frau Kaufman? Did he seem worried at all? Had he had any disagreements with anyone in town?"

Judith shook her head. "No more than usual."

With that, it seemed dinner was concluded. Jack helped the women clear the table. “Let’s leave the dishes until morning, Felicite, dear,” Judith said. “I don’t think I can take any more today.” She wished the couple a good night with a knowing smile, and went to bed. Phryne watched Jack blush slightly with a smile of her own. This was the first day she had felt like herself in a long time, and she found herself actually feeling the first flush of desire. Part of her was still afraid, and she knew she wasn't ready for everything. But she thought she might be ready for a little something with Jack.

Jack tried to cover his discomfort, explaining that Hoefler expected to have a load of cargo ready in a couple of days, which should give them the time they needed to find out about Rivka. "If Rivka is alive, we'll abandon our cover and go, but if she is not, staying would allow us to at least salvage one load of cargo. Although now that there's a murder investigation, perhaps you would rather stay to solve it, Miss Fisher?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Phryne gave him a rueful smile. "Why is it that now there is a murder investigation I've become 'Miss Fisher' again? I rather liked being 'Phryne'."

Jack chuckled, looking at his feet, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Habit, I guess." He raised his eyes to hers. "I rather liked you being 'Phryne' too," he admitted.

She held out her hand to him, and he took it with a questioning look. "I thought we might continue this conversation upstairs," she said with a hint of a smolder.

He cleared his throat. "I'd like that. But Phryne— "

"It's alright Jack. I know I'm safe with you. We'll take it slowly, like a waltz."

"Slow and close," he said with a smile. It felt like a lifetime ago that they had described their partnership that way. He pulled her gently to him, carefully placed his hands on her slender hips, and leaned in slowly for a kiss. His lips were soft and warm as he kissed her mouth, then inch by inch up one cheekbone, then the other, then her forehead under its fringe of raven hair. He covered her face with warm, gentle kisses in a way that made her feel as if she were precious. He ended with a kiss to her top lip, then the bottom, then both.

When he pulled back slightly, she realized that at some point she had moved to hold him close, her arms around his slim waist, hands spread across his broad, firm back. She wasn't used to seeing him so casually dressed and without pomade in his hair. He really was very handsome, and she was enjoying the feel of his lean body through the soft peasant shirt he was wearing in place of his usual suit. He was holding her too, very lightly, one hand spread across the small of her back, the other between her shoulders. His fingers were toying with the short hairs on the back of her neck. 

Her hips were pressed against him, and she could feel his arousal, but she didn't feel threatened. She knew this man, and trusted him with her life. And although she generally enjoyed making him squirm a bit, it didn't feel right to tease him when she wasn't sure she was ready for anything more, even with Jack. She stepped back, regretfully. "Perhaps it's best not to go upstairs after all," she said, gently pushing a golden brown curl that had fallen onto his forehead back into place.

He gave her his signature wry smile. "What's this? Miss Fisher advocating restraint?" Then he cupped her cheek and gave her that beautiful smile that made her heart ache. "I've waited this long for you, I can wait awhile longer." Jack bade her good night with one final kiss before they made their way to their separate rooms in opposite wings of the tavern.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've been waiting for.

Jack dreamed he was holding Phryne in his arms, warm and soft, smelling of French perfume, and he pulled her closer, snuggling her against his chest and nuzzling her neck. He sighed in contentment, and slept better than he had in years.

In the morning, he drifted into consciousness, feeling the sun on his eyelids, the sheets against his bare chest, the warm, feminine body beside him. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up, turning to see Phryne lying in bed next to him. Her back was toward him and she was still asleep. His eyes roamed over her sleeping form. She was wearing a silk negligee in lavender, which had ridden up, exposing a bare alabaster hip and a matching pair of knickers that hugged her backside like a second skin. He tore his eyes away. Her usually neat cap of black hair was in disarray, spread around her head on the pillow. Her face was free of makeup, showing the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. He didn't think he had ever seen anything so lovely in his life. 

As he watched, she stirred, rolling onto her back and opening her eyes. They were soft, and as she noticed him looking at her, they darkened and he saw the familiar wicked gleam appear in them that made his heart sing and his pulse quicken. He tried to control his body's reaction to having her so close to him, but from the quirk of her eyebrows he knew she had noticed.

"Good morning," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Where did you come from? I thought I dreamed you," he murmured. 

She quivered slightly at his voice, and her eyes grew dark. "I couldn't sleep," she said. She reached out, stroking his bare shoulder, up to the back of his neck, and pulled his head down for a slow, sensual kiss. He heard her make a soft mewling sound as she deepened the kiss, darting her tongue out, seeking entrance to his mouth. He opened willingly, but let her lead, allowing her to explore him with her tongue. Her hands were roaming over the bare skin of his chest and back, over the hard muscles that had always before been hidden from her view beneath the layers of his suit back in Melbourne.

He was curled over her, not putting any of his weight on her, careful not to make her feel trapped, enjoying the intimacy of her touch. He could kiss her like this forever, he thought, humming in contentment. Phryne gave a little moan as the vibrations from that small hum pulsed through her, and she broke away, panting. "Jack," she pleaded, "Touch me."

Unable to resist, Jack kissed her face and neck, while his free hand caressed her. He stroked slowly up her arm, making gentle circles on her shoulder, reveling in the feel of her skin. When he started gently nipping her throat, she tipped her head back to give him better access, and arched her small breasts into his chest. Jack groaned, his cock pushing insistently against her hip under the sheet. He pulled his head back, trying to regain control, reminding himself it was too soon.

Phryne gave a frustrated whimper, and reached for his cock, to stroke him through the covers. Jack intercepted her hand, entwining his fingers with hers and recapturing her mouth with his own. Seeming satisfied for the moment, she ran her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and kissed him passionately.

Jack was rapidly losing control, and the next time he pulled away from her kiss, he was breathing hard. He watched her eyes as he delicately stroked his fingertips over her shoulder and down to the curve of her breast, keeping the fabric of the negligee between them. He was relieved to see her shiver was one of arousal rather than fear, but continued to watch as he carefully slipped the thin strap down her shoulder, exposing her breast to his hungry gaze.

With one fingertip, he retraced the path from her shoulder, along the line of her breast, then up over the small alabaster mound to circle the dusky pink nipple. Slowly, he leaned in and traced a circle around it with his tongue, gratified to hear her moan his name. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, and making her gasp.

Phryne's hands had been tracing the taut muscles in his back. As Jack teased her breast, she drew one hand along his side circling his hip through the cotton of his pajama trousers. She slipped her hand under the waistband, and he gasped as her hand slid over his bare arse, pressing him against her, his erection firmly caught between them.

She reclaimed his mouth with her own, teasing him with her tongue before pulling it back, inviting him wordlessly to explore her. He did so gladly, losing himself in the silky warmth of her mouth, the feel of her breast beneath his fingers, the gentle squeezing of her hand on his arse, the pulsing of his cock as it was pressed between them.

When they finally broke away, panting, they were both glassy eyed. Phryne gave a low, throaty chuckle, and murmured, "Well, Inspector, you're full of surprises."

Jack kissed the tip of her nose and quipped, "All part of the job, Miss Fisher."

"I certainly hope you don't treat all the ladies this way."

His eyes smoldered at her as he whispered, "Only you, Miss Fisher, only you."

Phryne's eyes glittered as she pushed his shoulder back, and Jack's widened, afraid he had somehow startled her. But she continued the motion, pushing him onto his back and rising to straddle him. Jack's eyes widened further, but in surprise and desire now, as he realized she had somehow rid herself of her knickers and was bare above him. Still, he managed to choke out a somewhat strangled, "Phryne! Are you sure?" as she leaned forward, her pert breasts hovering tantalizingly above his chest.

Phryne traced a finger from his navel downward, teasing him through his pajamas, and he drew breath in a deep hiss, his erection straining against her touch. She raised herself and tugged at the waistband of his trousers, purring, "Very." He lifted his hips and shimmied his trousers and pants down, hooking them off with his feet. A small voice in his mind cried out that it was too soon, but his body seemed to be acting of its own accord. Phryne leaned forward again, and took him in her hand, stroking him a few times before guiding him to her opening and lowering herself onto him. She moaned with pleasure and he groaned as well. She was hot and wet, slick with her desire, and so tight around him. 

"Oh, Christ, Phryne," he whispered, overcome with almost-forgotten sensation. He could barely think; he wanted her so much. Slowly, she began to move on top of him, and he watched in awe as she touched herself. With one hand, she fondled a breast, fingers tweaking the nipple. With the other she stroked a spot near where they were joined.

He watched, his eyes hooded and dark with desire, as she moved faster, while her finger circled her clit, and she gasped and moaned in pleasure. Her breathing was more labored, and his was too, as he bucked beneath her, rising up to meet her as she ground down. Their movements became frantic now, faster and deeper, until with a cry she came, her core clenching around his length and pushing him over the edge. Jack plunged deep inside her as he came, spilling his seed, crying out her name.

As Phryne collapsed on top of Jack, snuggling into his shoulder, he came back to his senses, and he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing gentle, lazy circles on her back and shoulders. He closed his eyes, and sighed. "Oh, Phryne." He wasn't sure if he was expressing satisfaction or despair. 

Now that he was able to think again, he was ashamed of himself. He knew it was too soon; that this was a coping mechanism for her. "I haven't taken anything seriously since 1918," she had told him once. It was how she had dealt with the back-to-back traumas of her time as a nurse during the war and an abusive relationship.

He felt guilty, but, oh, God! He had wanted her for so long. They had finally, after almost two years of flirting and longing, been on the verge of something more when she had left for England. Then the almost physical pain of her absence, and the letter she had written telling him she loved him, had knocked down the last of his protective walls. To see her again, after so long apart, and to wake to find her warm and willing in his bed - resisting her had been a lost cause, he acknowledged, shaking his head.

When Phryne awoke, Jack was watching her again. This time she could see the guilt and fear in his eyes. "Jack," she said softly, "Thank you." She saw the surprise flicker in his eyes. "I needed to feel you— to feel your love… I know it's too soon, but it does help," she whispered.

He wasn't entirely sure he believed her, but he managed a smirk as he replied, "Well, I did say I wanted to help."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder.

"Herr Richter, I understand your… fascination… with the French girl. But I feel I must caution you that she is not who she says she is." 

Jack was in Hoefler's office again, discussing the cargo he would be taking to Paris, and when he could leave. The smoke from the Colonel's gaspers was thick and foul, and Jack was starting to feel light-headed. Finally they had agreed Jack could leave in two days' time, but now Hoefler was trying to convince him not to take Phryne with him. Jack knew there was nothing anyone could say to convince him of that, but he played along. He cocked his head and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"She was asking questions about party business, and was caught sneaking around late one night," Hoefler answered him, exhaling a stream of smoke, and stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray on his desk. "She is a spy. Perhaps for the French government, perhaps for the Jews. Either way, I would prefer she not return to her masters."

Jack pretended to consider the matter. "I see. I will have to think about this. It may be to our advantage if we provide her with false information to pass on to her masters, Herr Colonel," he pointed out. 

The Colonel thought about this as he lit another smoke, and finally nodded reluctantly. "Perhaps," he admitted. He turned to his office door and called for the clerk, "Schmidt!" The young man hadn't been there when Jack arrived, and it seemed he was still absent, as the Colonel received no answer. "Where is that verdammt boy?" Hoefler muttered, then addressed Jack again, "We will talk more about this." 

He was escorting Jack to the door when a woman threw it open. She was breathing hard, and had obviously been running. She startled momentarily, but recovered quickly. "Herr Colonel! Please come! Near the market. Another death."

Colonel Hoefler swore again, and turned to Jack. "Excuse me, Herr Richter. I must see to this."

"Of course, Herr Colonel. I'll come with you if you don't mind. I'm on my way back to the tavern anyway."

Hoefler nodded absently as he grabbed cigarettes and notebook, and signaled his men to accompany him.

****

Phryne thought the gossip in the marketplace would drive her mad. She had lost track of the number of times she had heard, "So, Fraulein, were you really there when it happened?" or some variation. The only interesting tidbit she had heard was that Frau Abrahams apparently had a visitor that no one knew. He had a French accent, and had arrived the same day as Jack. 

Phryne had asked the woman about her visitor, while she bought chickens for the tavern, but the Frau was tight-lipped. She hadn't been overly curious about the murder, either, which was odd. Phryne was debating bringing it up herself when a teenage girl stumbled into the market, pale and trembling. "Dead!" she shrieked. Then with a moan she vomited on her shoes, and collapsed. 

Frau Abrahams turned deathly pale and shook her head as if denying something, then glanced at Phryne and tried to compose herself, saying, "The poor girl! She must mean Anselm."

Phryne filed that away for later, and knelt by the girl, Clara, helping her to sit up. One of the other women brought a glass of water, and Phryne helped her drink it. When Clara recovered a bit, she managed to stutter an explanation: she had found a body. A second man had been killed. Phryne quickly took charge. She asked the woman who had brought the water to accompany her and Clara to the scene, then go for the Colonel while Phryne stayed with the girl.

The body was in an alley, not far from the marketplace. The man was lying on his back in a pool of blood, which had obviously come from his slit throat. Phryne could see why the girl had been sick. She coaxed Clara onto a nearby stoop, her body turned away from the scene, to wait for Colonel Hoefler's arrival. Then Phryne began her own observations, being careful not to touch any of the blood. By the time Colonel Hoefler and his men arrived, she was sitting with an arm around Clara's shoulders.

***

Jack rolled his eyes when he saw Phryne at the scene. He had stopped questioning how she managed to find her way to crime scenes. He put the thought aside, and examined the scene himself, trying to be unobtrusive. Well, he thought, that explains where the missing clerk is. Schmidt's throat had been slit, and there was a large pool of blood around him. The knife had been left beside the body. It was an unusual knife - with a squared-off end - and not overly large. The position of the body was odd, as if it had been moved, and the wound was very neat. These clues suggested to Jack that the man had perhaps been knocked unconscious before his throat was cut.

Jack looked around for a blunt object that might have been used, and saw what looked like a walking staff near one side of the alley. Nonchalantly, Jack moved closer and leaned against the wall, ostensibly watching Hoefler's men work, and ascertained that the staff had what looked like blood and hair stuck to it, and was cracked in the same spot. He caught the eye of one of Hoefler’s men and gave a quick jerk of his head to indicate the man should come closer. When he did, Jack nodded toward the staff. The man’s eyes lit up, and he glanced back at Jack. Jack gave him a satisfied nod and pushed himself away from the wall. 

He noticed Phryne had left, and decided he had seen enough here. He caught Hoefler's eye, gave him a curt nod of farewell. As he walked away he heard one of the men call Hoefler over to see the evidence he had discovered.

****

Daniel Salomon shivered under the wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The earthen floor of the shed didn't provide any warmth or comfort, but it was all he had right now. The young man had gone around in back of Frau Abrahams' house when he returned from the alley this morning, and showered off the worst of the blood, stripping and washing his clothes a bit as well. He had been dripping wet and wrapped in an old wool blanket he’d found when he discovered the door of Frau Abrahams' house was locked, and decided to wait on the steps for her. She usually returned from the market briefly for lunch. The sun was warm and he had laid out his wet clothes to dry.

He was somewhat annoyed when his hostess didn’t return for lunch. His clothes were mostly dry by now, and he dressed, leaving the blanket on the porch. His stomach growled, and he wandered into the Frau’s garden plot, finding a tomato, several cucumbers, and a few beans. The garden plot was on one edge of the Frau’s property, separated from the neighbor’s yard by a row of giant sunflowers. As he munched on his impromptu lunch, he heard voices coming from the other side of the sunflowers. The neighbor was hanging out her laundry and apparently a friend had stopped by to gossip. Daniel moved closer, hidden by the giant flowers.

“Found him in a pool of blood,” said the neighbor in a hushed voice as she pulled a sheet from her basket.

The friend obligingly made a sound of horrified denial as she grabbed a wooden pin and one corner of the sheet and raised her arms to pin it to the line.

“Yes!” the neighbor affirmed, pinning the other corner to the line. “And there was a sakin by the body!” 

The friend picked up the basket and the women shuffled to an open spot on the clothesline. Setting the basket down again, she sighed. “I suppose that means we’ll all take the blame. Colonel Hoefler and his thugs’ll use this as an excuse to make our lives miserable.” 

The neighbor sighed as well, and the two women continued to hang the bed clothes in companionable silence, as Daniel crept away unseen.

‘Well, that’s no good,’ the young man thought. He hadn’t intended to put the Jewish community in danger. He had only wanted to deflect Hoefler away from the two strangers. He sighed. He supposed the sakin hadn’t been as good an idea as he had thought. This was why he never played chess, he thought. He just couldn’t predict what his opponent would do. Now he really needed to find out what had happened to Rivka soon. Maybe one of the guards would know. He decided to take a nap while he waited for Frau Abrahams to get home.

Unfortunately, Frau Abrahams didn't come home after the market closed, so he moved to the shed, but he was cold and the cut on his hand hurt like hell. He hoped nothing had happened to the older woman. She was usually here by this time, cooking dinner. His stomach growled hopefully at the thought of food, and he sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has a flashback and panic attack. Jack gets her through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could be a disturbing scene for some. No details are given, just the idea of a flashback and resulting panic attack. If you think it might upset you, don't read it. Just know that Jack gets her through it and they talk about it in the morning. If you can scroll to the last section (I've tried to separate it a bit more obviously), there's some case info about the knife, but I think you're ok if you need to skip it.

The tavern had re-opened for dinner, and was unusually busy, as everyone wanted to find out all they could about the murdered keeper, especially since the news of a second murder. So it was not until after the washing up was done that Phryne was able to slip upstairs to Jack's room.

He looked up from his book as she opened the door, and before she had closed it behind her, he had crossed the room. Halfway there he realized his intention to sweep her into his arms and kiss her soundly, might frighten her in her current state, so instead, he gave her a bow and extended his hand, "May I have this dance, Miss Fisher?" he asked with a smile.

To his delight, Phryne gaped at him for a moment before recovering her aplomb. "Why, Inspector! I thought you'd never ask!" She fitted herself into his embrace, murmuring, "Slow and close, Jack," and he swept her around the tiny space of his room in a waltz step until they were both dizzy and laughing like children. Then he carefully maneuvered them so that when he fell back onto the bed, she landed on top of him. She pushed herself up slightly, still laughing, then pressed her forehead to his. "Oh, Jack! That was wonderful!"

Her green eyes were sparkling, and she was a little flushed. Jack grinned up at her, and slid both arms around her waist anchoring her lightly to him. He let his gaze flicker from her eyes to her lips and back before slowly raising his head to bring his lips to hers. She met him halfway, and raised her hands to frame his face, almost immediately deepening the kiss enthusiastically. Jack stroked her back and ran one hand up to tangle in her hair, feeling the silky strands slip through his fingers.

He saw when her pleasure turned to pain. She had closed her eyes, but then something must have triggered a memory. Perhaps it was a touch that was a little too rough, or an inadvertent tug of her hair, or a too-enthusiastic thrust of his tongue. Her body stiffened, her eyes flew open, and there was fear in them. He instantly let go of her, cursing himself for his impatience, and pulled away from their kiss. Phryne lurched away from him, and promptly fell on the floor. Jack sat up and scooted further up the bed away from her, giving her the space she needed. She was panting and swallowing sobs, trying to control her panic.

Jack wanted to beg her forgiveness, but knew he had to get her through the crisis first. He softly talked to her, trying to ground her with his voice. "Phryne. I'm here. It's Jack. You're safe, love. They can't hurt you. I'm here, and I love you." He didn't know how long he murmured endearments to her, but bit by bit her breathing steadied, her trembling slowed, her frantic sobs turned to tears, then dried, and he saw the sanity return to her eyes. His own eyes were full of tears and self-recrimination.

When she looked up at him, her gaze was so full of shame, his heart broke for her all over again. "I'm so sorry, Jack," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she started crying again in earnest.

Tentatively, Jack crossed the room to her side, and gently rubbed her back. "Shhhh, Phryne, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have pushed you. I understand." He looked away for a moment then turned back to her. "I had shell shock when I first came back from the war," he admitted. She looked up at him, surprised. "It's not something I talk about. But this reminds me of that. The smallest thing could trigger it - a sound, a smell, a color - and I was right back there in the trenches, shaking in my boots." He swallowed, and gently took her hand. "Did you experience that?" he asked. 

She was somewhat calmer now, and she nodded. "For me it was faces. I'd see someone on the street or a tram, and suddenly I'd see my hands and arms covered in blood." She shuddered. "It doesn't happen very often any more. That young man on the docks was the last time, I think. He died in my arms. I couldn't do anything to help him, and that helplessness took me right back to the war."

Jack squeezed her hand, her words clicking with something in his mind. He had berated Collins for leaving the scene of the crime to take her home that night, but now he understood, and he was glad his constable had taken care of her. He carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rocked her. After a moment's thought, he began reciting:

Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead,   
And the possums may gambol in trees overhead;   
I am humping my bluey far out on the land,   
And the prints of my bluchers sink deep in the sand:   
I am out on the wallaby humping my drum,   
And I came by the tracks where the sundowners come. 

By the time he finished the rest of the stanzas, Lawson’s familiar words and the easy cadence in Jack's rumbling voice had lulled her to sleep, with her head in his lap. After a few more moments, he carefully shifted so he could stand, and carried her to bed.

Jack didn't sleep much. His dreams were full of shelling, the screams of the dying, blood and body parts, the smell of the field hospital, and all the other myriad horrors of the war. Each time he woke, he anchored himself by holding Phryne, praying he wouldn't trigger another episode for her, but needing to feel her next to him. Occasionally the irony of the pair of them nursing each other through this would break through his misery, but he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the situation. He only knew Phryne would appreciate the irony too, and that knowledge reassured him somehow. They were a good match, supporting and complementing each other. He felt a smirk tug at one corner of his mouth - perhaps together they made one whole sane person. He thought she would like that idea too. Finally, as the sky began to pale, he was able to sleep.

****

When Jack awoke the next morning, he turned on his side and watched Phryne sleep as he thought. Rape, especially what she had gone through, was at least as much about control as it was about sex. And for a woman as strong as she was, in so many ways, being forced to allow this to happen without fighting back had probably done her more damage than the physical act. He suspected that the reason Phryne had been able to make love with him that first time had to do with her being in control, particularly of her own pleasure. She had been on top, in control of how fast and how deep; then she had touched herself, in control of her own body and its reactions. Reclaiming her own pleasure would most likely play a large part in her recovery, which gave him some rather enticing ideas.

He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. He could wait though. Just having her here beside him was more than he had ever expected. He nuzzled into her neck, giving a soft whuff as her hair tickled his nose, which, in turn, tickled her neck, waking her and making her squeal. She rolled, unexpectedly pinning him to the bed, and retaliating with feather-light strokes down his sides. He squirmed out from under her, laughing, and held up his hands to fend her off. "Truce!" he called, and she laughingly retreated, nodding.

Smiling, he said softly, "Two mornings in a row. I could get used to waking next to you, Phryne." His eyes were soft as they took her in, from her mussed hair to her bare feet. As his gaze returned to her eyes, he registered the pain in them and his heart gave a lurch. "Oh, God, Phryne! I didn't mean to assume— "

"No, Jack," she said. "It's alright. It's just that— you're such a good man… and you deserve someone just as good. I'm… broken… Last night was proof of that," she trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

Jack shook his head slowly. "Phryne," he said, sounding slightly exasperated. "You're wrong, love. On so many levels."

He swallowed, then lay down on his side and patted the bed next to him. She just looked at him for a moment then lay down facing him. He smiled and asked almost shyly, "Turn over and let me hold you?" He didn't think he could say what he needed to face to face. Phryne rolled over and let him curl around her. His bottom arm was wrapped around her waist, snuggling her gently to his chest, and he lightly stroked her from shoulder to hip and back with his free hand. When he began to speak she could feel the vibrations of his deep voice soothing her like the purr of a cat. 

"Phryne, if you’re broken then I am too." She started to protest but he interrupted, "Shhhh, love. Let me finish. Last night, after you were asleep, I couldn't sleep without dreaming of the war. It happens sometimes. But I got through it by holding you." He gave a soft snort. "We make quite a pair. Neither of us is whole. We've both suffered trauma - this is not the first time you've been hurt. We both are trying to cope and carry on. But Phryne, we each seem to cope best by relying on the other, sharing our stories, feeling each other's pain, not judging but just being there for each other. And having the other rely on us makes us more determined to cope and be worthy. Together, I think we make a whole." After a long pause he whispered in a broken voice, "I had a good woman, but Rosie didn't understand what I was dealing with. You do. And I don't know a better woman, a better person, than you Phryne Fisher."

After another pause, he softly recited:  
"I have found a light in my long dark night,  
Brighter than stars or moon;  
I have lost the fear of the sunset drear,  
And the sadness of afternoon.  
Here let us stand while I hold your hand,  
Where the light's on your [raven] head--  
Oh! I feel the thrill that I used to feel  
In the days ere my heart was dead."

Jack's voice was deep and husky with emotion as he intoned the words, kissing the back of her neck gently as he finished.

Phryne didn't reply for a long time. Jack just continued stroking her arm, letting her absorb what he had said. Finally she snuggled back into him, folded her bottom arm up to hold his hand and whispered, "Every time I think I couldn't possibly love you more, you show me new depths and I fall in love all over again. Jack Robinson, you are an amazing man." To herself she added, 'And Rosie was a fool to let you go.'

**** ***** *****

Eventually, Phryne sighed and asked, "So, what did you make of the second victim?"

Jack ordered his thoughts. "Hans Schmidt. Desk clerk for Colonel Hoefler. Didn't report for work that morning. He was hit over the head with a staff, then his throat was slit."

Phryne added, "The knife was a Jewish sakin used for ritual slaughter." At his slight movement, she shrugged. "I've learned a bit working in the kitchen here. It was a fairly small one, so probably used for chickens."

Jack commented, "Hmmm. Used to throw suspicion on the Jewish community?"

"Probably. I can't imagine any Jew would use a sakin for anything so sacrilegious. Unless it was to send some sort of message?"

"Equating Hoefler and his men to animals? What about Kaufman? How does his death fit in?"

"I'm not sure. You said Schmidt was hit first? Why would the murderer knock him unconscious— ? Wait! Jews aren't allowed to stun the animal before slaughtering it! If it was done by a Jew, as a message, wouldn't they follow the ritual laws?"

"So it was more likely to place the blame on a Jew. How did you come to be at the scene, by the way?"

"I was at the market when Clara found the body. Actually, that reminds me. Frau Abrahams has a French guest who appeared the same day you arrived. Nobody seems to know who he is. And guess what Frau Abrahams sells at her market stall?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Chickens?"

Phryne nodded. "She knows something. About the second murder, at least. I’d bet my hat on it."

"You aren’t wearing one,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Perhaps she would talk to Judith? If it was common knowledge that she and Anselm weren't on the best of terms?"

"Hmmm. It's worth a try." Phryne sighed. "I should get back to my room," she said reluctantly, turning to face him, and stroking his chiseled cheek with the backs of her fingers. "I love to feel the stubble on your face," she said with a smile. Kissing the tip of his nose, she rose and slipped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two poems are both by Henry Lawson. The first is "On the Wallaby," and the second is from "New Life, New Love." (In the original, the sixth line reads: "Where the light's on your golden head." But "raven" swaps in nicely and the sentiment is so Phrack I felt it was something Jack would do.) You can find the full texts on the Poetry Library site.
> 
> http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/lawson-henry/


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder. Our heroes make some progress on the case, and start to make a plan.

When Jack arrived at Hoefler's office for his daily meeting, the place was a hive of activity. He soon gathered that there had been yet another murder. This time, it had been a guard at the warehouse connected to Hoefler's offices. Jack was observing Hoefler's men and unobtrusively examining the body when Hoefler approached. The Colonel cleared his throat, seeming unhappy to see Jack. Hoping to distract Hoefler, Jack asked, "My cargo, Herr Colonel? Not stolen, I hope?" 

Hoefler waved his cigarette in a general gesture. "I'm afraid, Herr Richter, you may be delayed a few days more." He gave Jack a stern look. "I, however, am more concerned with the murder of another of my men."

Jack sighed. "Of course, Herr Colonel. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just stay out of trouble, ja?" Colonel Hoefler turned away from Jack to listen to the report from the medical officer who had just entered. When Jack didn't move, Hoefler turned back and glared at Jack until he left. 

Memories of Phryne ducking under his arm or dazzling her way past Collins in order to get to one of his crime scenes flitted through Jack’s head, and in the back of his mind he heard himself saying, ‘You made better headway than I did, although I don’t think fan feathers would work for me.’ The corners of his mouth turned down as he tried to repress a smile. It was no wonder she was constantly in his office pumping him for information. It was maddening trying to solve a murder without access to bodies, coroner's reports, constables to track down loose ends and the other resources available to the police. He hoped she was her usual two steps ahead with this one.

****

Judith knocked on Frau Abrahams' door, while Phryne looked around. The house was well-kept, with a shed, outhouse and garden plot in back and a large chicken coop and hen house to one side. After a moment, Judith knocked again. "Frau Abrahams? Elsa?" There was no answer, and the two women walked around to the back of the house. Judith peeked into the henhouse. "The eggs have not been collected, Liebchen."

Phryne, glanced over her shoulder at the big woman, then opened the shed door. There was a woolen blanket on the ground in one corner. It was filthy, stiffened with stains that were unidentifiable on the dark wool. Someone had been sleeping in the shed, but it was impossible to say whether last week or last night. They inspected the outhouse next. The ground under the shower was damp; it had not been used that morning, but certainly sometime the day before, Phryne guessed.

The women glanced at each other, each measuring the other's reaction. Judith grimaced, and said, "Let's try the door. I'm worried for Elsa." Phryne knew Judith was concerned that whoever had killed Anselm might kill again, and worried about what this might mean for her and for the Jewish community in Freiburg.

Phryne nodded, and wordlessly retrieved Jack's lockpicks from her garter. She had "borrowed" them this morning, since her picks and dagger had been confiscated by Hoefler's men. Judith raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. They approached the back door of the house, and Phryne fiddled with the lock until it opened. Glancing around, they slipped inside Frau Abrahams' house.

There was no sign of the owner, which Phryne took as a good sign. Their killer hadn't been shy about leaving dead bodies to be found, so she hoped the lack of one meant Frau Abrahams was alive and simply somewhere else. They did, however, find a rucksack, which she assumed belonged to the Frau's mysterious guest. Her inspection of the contents showed him to be a male, of slight build. There was a family picture of Evron Blumenthal and his granddaughter, taken a few years ago, with a man and woman she assumed were Rivka's parents. She also found a child's drawing of two figures, one large and one smaller, which had the message, "To Daniel, Love, Rivka," written in a child's writing. She tucked both items in her handbag to show Jack later. In the kitchen, they found a blood stained rag and bandaging supplies. "Well, we know who the killer is, then," observed Phryne. 

****

Johann Fromm arrived at Frau Abrahams’ house along with two junior officers. There was no answer at the front, so they headed around to the back of the house. Fromm sent one of the men to search the out buildings, while he and the other checked the back door. It was unlocked and the two men entered. 

“Check the kitchen,” Fromm instructed as he moved to search the bedrooms. The larger of the two bedrooms belonged to Frau Abrahams, he saw immediately, and he decided to search the other first. As he entered, he saw the rumors were right. The Frau did have a house guest. There was a rucksack sitting on a chair beside the bed. Fromm dumped the contents onto the bed, rummaging through them. A man’s clothes, he observed. Nothing to help identify the guest though. Perhaps in one of the smaller pockets of the rucksack? ‘Ahhh!’ he thought, feeling a small hard object. When he pulled it out, he saw it was a wooden whistle shaped like a bird. A child’s toy. Not much help after all.

He returned to the kitchen and found that his juniors had not had much better luck. Some bloodied bandages in the kitchen, and a stained blanket in the shed. Perhaps someone had slept there? “There are eggs in the hen house, Sir,” one of the junior officers added.

Fromm gave a loud snort. “Of course there are eggs in the hen house, you idiot!” 

The young man started to protest, but his partner gave a sharp shake of the head and he said nothing. When Fromm turned and stomped off toward their motorcar, he grew bold again. “Sir? Do we know where the Frau is?”

Fromm ignored the man, saying, “Get in the verdammt car!”

The two junior officers shrugged and got in the car.

****

"Hoefler's men have been taking out their anger on the Jewish merchants in the marketplace," Phryne noted. She and Judith were comparing notes with Jack before starting the dinner preparations. "Several of the stalls were 'accidentally' overturned this morning."

"Frau Simons said they came to her house and searched it. They would not tell her what they were looking for, but they took several items of value - 'confiscated as evidence,' they said," added Judith. "And Herr Bauer said they searched his shop as well." Phryne and Jack were seated at the bar while Judith bustled around tending to the old men at the other end.

Jack nodded. "Did you find out anything about Frau Abrahams or her guest?" he asked. They told him about the clues they had found at the woman's house. Jack examined the photograph and drawing, and nodded, thinking.

"Well, from what I saw and heard, the guard could have been questioned before he died, sometime late last night or early morning.” Jack gave a frustrated sigh. “But what I don't understand is: If the victims are all connected to Hoefler and the Nazis, and the motive has to do with Rebekka and her parents, why was the murderer, this Daniel, trying to throw blame on the Jews? If he isn't a Jew himself, he certainly seems to sympathize with them, so why make trouble for them?"

"To make Hoefler think it's a red herring?" Phryne hazarded, also puzzled.

"I'm not sure Hoefler's men even noticed the knife was anything out of the ordinary," Jack objected. "They just seem to be blaming the Jews because the victims were their fellow Nazis, not because of any evidence." He smoothed his hands over the drawing Phryne had found. "This guard," Jack mused. "Do you suppose he might have known where Rivka is? Have you had any further contact with Rivka? Or her guards?" Jack asked Phryne, but she shook her head.

"Not since before you arrived, Jack," Phryne said quietly.

"Do we know anything about the layout of Hoefler's offices? Or the warehouse?"

Judith nodded. "I can draw a general plan of the offices. It won't be complete, but…" she shrugged, then added, "But I know nothing about the warehouse area, other than that it’s connected to the offices."

Reluctantly, Phryne admitted, "I can draw at least some of the warehouse. It's mostly in the lower level of the offices, along with the cells. That's where I— " she stopped, looking at Judith, then Jack, then down at her lap.

Jack gently rubbed her knee under the table, and nodded. "Alright, then, see what you can do, ladies, and we'll see if we can determine where Rivka might be held. Things are heating up too much, Phryne. We're going to need to find out about Rivka and leave soon. Now, I think I need to clean up before dinner. Thank you both." Jack stood and kissed Phryne on the cheek before heading to his room.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a special evening planned for Phryne; in the morning Phryne returns the favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part of this chapter contains non-graphic references to rape. If you feel that will disturb you, you can safely read to the first ***** break and skip the morning session.

Dinner at the tavern had been busy again, but Jack had managed to whisper an invitation to Phryne to meet him upstairs later for a surprise, and her eyes had twinkled as she nodded. As she turned to saunter away, he stopped her with a touch. She looked at him questioningly, and he cocked his head with a flirtatious smile. "You might want to bring the items you borrowed this morning." 

After Jack's comment, Phryne wasn't surprised to find the door to his room locked, and quickly used the borrowed picks to let herself in. As she turned from locking the door behind her, she gave a little gasp. The room was lit only by a number of candles, giving it a soft, warm glow. The metal bed frame had been moved away from the wall, allowing access all the way around it. Phryne breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of the fresh lilacs that were in a large vase on the dresser. More of the tiny lavender flowers were scattered all over the bed, she noticed.

Judging from the abandoned pillow and book in one corner, Jack had been waiting there for her, but he had arisen when he heard the picks. Now he was standing beside the bed in shorts and a singlet, looking positively delicious, with his hair softly falling over his brow, his eyes sparkling, and that little half-smile playing on his lips.

Phryne noted the bottle and glasses, and another smaller bottle, on the bedside table, which was still along the wall. She looked at Jack again, feeling desire curl within her at the sight of his bare arms and legs, and raised an eyebrow. "Jack?"

"I thought you could do with some relaxation," he told her. When she didn't answer, he went to pour drinks for them, bringing hers to her as he explained, "I spent some time in physical therapy after I was wounded."

Phryne gave him an appraising look. "I knew you played the piano, Jack, but massage? What other talents do those fingers have in store?"

"Come and find out," Jack smoldered at her.

Phryne melted at the heat in his voice and eyes. She stepped closer to him, and cocked her head at him. "Am I right in assuming I need to be undressed for this?"

Jack lowered his eyes to her lips, then looked her in the eyes. "Yes, Miss Fisher," he whispered, "That would be best."

"Well, Inspector, you'd better get started then," Phryne smoldered back at him, spreading her arms wide in invitation.

Jack licked his lips, and swallowed, suddenly nervous, then closed the distance between them. He took her glass and set it aside with his own, and began carefully unbuttoning her blouse, touching the skin underneath as he did so, with an oh so delicate caress. By the time he reached the last button, Phryne's heart was pounding, and her breath was coming much faster than she would have thought possible from such a simple act. Jack brushed his fingers from her waist up to her shoulders under the edges of her now open blouse, causing Phryne to shiver with anticipation, then he carefully pushed the blouse off her shoulders, and she allowed it to fall to the floor at her feet.

Jack lightly ran his fingers back down her body to the hem of her camisole, then pulled that up and over her head, leaving her torso bare to his hungry eyes and wandering fingers. Those fingers danced their way back down her body to the waistband of her skirt, undoing the buttons carefully. Jack ran his hands out to her hips and slipped them into the waistband, kneeling as he pulled skirt and knickers down for her to step out of. From his place at her feet, he removed her shoes and stockings as well.

To Phryne's surprise, Jack remained on his knees for a moment more, pressing kisses to her inner thighs, so close to her core she thought she might actually swoon. Then he leaned into her, inhaling deeply, breathing in her musky scent, and licked a long, slow stroke through her folds. She bit back a moan. She had been afraid she would never feel this again. She thought her knees might buckle. Slowly Jack got to his feet again, kissing her stomach, swirling his tongue around her nipples one after the other, and ending with her lips. Releasing her mouth, he whispered, "Miss Fisher, you taste divine."

After that, she scarcely remembered how she got to the bed, positioned on her stomach, head cradled on her arms. All she could remember were the sensations: his glorious hands, covered lightly with oil, kneading the muscles of her back and shoulders, smoothing all the knots she hadn't known were there, leaving her so relaxed she was almost drowsing. Then his deep, seductive voice whispering in her ear, "Turn over." 

She did, rousing herself a little, but his hands continued to knead her shoulders and neck, soothing her back into that half sleep. He moved her legs one by one, massaging each foot thoroughly, and replacing them so they were spread further than she might have expected if she had been more aware. Even when she felt the bed between her feet give under his added weight, she gave it no thought. 

Then he was massaging both her thighs lightly, and she could feel his presence as he lowered his head. He breathed warm air against her folds, while his fingers gently explored and exposed her to his inquisitive and eager eyes. 

He found her clit just as he felt her begin to tense as she returned to awareness, and he dipped his head, lapping at the spot with his tongue. She drew in a gasp, and Jack stilled, looking up to meet her eyes, momentarily panicked. 'Oh God!' he thought, 'Have I got it wrong?'

She must have seen the fear in his eyes, for she braced herself on one elbow, and gave him a brilliant smile. She placed the other hand around the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to return to his work. As he did so tentatively, she threw her head back, panting, "Oh yes, Jack!" Reassured, Jack applied himself diligently, enjoying her with all his senses: the taste and smell of her, the sights and sounds of her pleasure, and the feel of her clenching around his fingers within her as he brought her wave after wave of bliss.

As she quietened, and Jack was reveling in the satisfaction of a job well done, she looked down at him where he lay, with his head on her thigh. Quietly, her voice slightly raspy from her moans, she said, "Come here, Jack," tugging on his arm lightly. "I want you."

Carefully Jack crawled up her body, lavishing it with kisses as he went, until he reached her mouth. Phryne cupped a hand to his cheek, and he pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were soft and warm. "That was incredible, Jack," she said softly. Then he saw the wicked gleam come into her eyes, and she said, cheekily, "Those hands are wonderful, Inspector! But you didn't tell me how very talented your tongue was!"

Jack kissed her soundly, as she reached between them and guided him into her.

****** ***** *****

Phryne woke early, and watched Jack sleep. He looked so peaceful and boyish, with none of the sternness and worry that so often creased his face. She was deeply touched by his actions the night before. He had shown such understanding and sensitivity since he had arrived, soothing her body and helping it remember the pleasures of being touched. He had been gentle, always aware of her state of mind. She hoped she would feel safe enough one day soon to enjoy the commanding side of him that she suspected he was holding back.

Moving carefully so as not to wake him too soon, Phryne worked her way down the bed, admiring his lean, muscular body as she went. Such a pleasant surprise hidden under those suits! Once she was in position, she gently took him in her mouth, savoring the soft, silky feel of him, and the way he quickly grew to fill her mouth.

It was not unusual for Jack to wake with an erection, or the occasional erotic dream, but despite his sleep befuddled mind, he quickly realized he was not dreaming the hot, wetness surrounding him or the… tongue (?!) stroking him. "Oh God!" Phryne worked him with hands and mouth, filling him with such exquisite pleasure he thought he might die. But, surely she wouldn't want to— He grasped the sheet on both sides of his body, trying to keep from bucking his hips hard into her as the glorious pressure built until, "Oh God! Phryne! I… I'm going to… Ah, ah, ah!" Jack yelled, as he came. 

At the last second, Phryne felt her panic rising, and released him from her mouth, his hot seed splashing her breast. She stroked him lightly once or twice, drinking in the sight of his much-loved face to calm herself, before draping herself over him. She crossed her arms over his chest and lay her chin on them, smiling at him, watching as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Good morning, Inspector," she purred. "Did you sleep well?"

Jack gave a contented sigh. "Mmmmm. The best I've done in years. You, Miss Fisher?"

"Likewise.”

The moment was ended as Jack's stomach gave a loud rumble. He let out an embarrassed chuckle, and Phryne gave him a playful slap on his belly as she rolled off him. "Come on then, Jack. Time to get up!"

Jack sat up slowly, watching Phryne gather her clothes and put them on. She paused, feeling his eyes on her, and turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at him. He smiled faintly, then said carefully, "That was— " he swallowed, and tried again. "You know I would never ask you for anything that made you feel— " He swore softly, and raised his eyes to hers, mutely willing her to understand what he was trying to say. That he knew what she had just done for him was most likely something her assailants had forced her to do. 

Phryne approached him where he sat on the edge of the bed, and took his hand in hers, holding it to her cheek and leaning into it. Her eyes, when they met his, were soft and bright with unshed tears. Quietly she tried to explain. "Jack. I don't pretend I'm 'cured,' but every time we make love moves me one step closer. You are not one of the animals who did this. Whenever my body remembers what was done to me, you bring me back. The sight of your face, the love I hear in your voice, the way your touch gives me pleasure instead of pain - all of it helps bring me through the crisis, and helps me heal. If I need you to stop, I will tell you, but so far, all I have needed is the caring in your eyes, and voice, and touch." She sat on the bed next to him, rubbing his shoulder. "I wanted to give you that pleasure, Jack, to show you how happy you made me last night." She looked away for a moment then turned back to him. "At the end, when you came, yes," she shuddered, "I had to pull away. But you did not force me to do anything, my love, and seeing the look in your eyes as you came, the pure joy… Well, Jack, I think I would do almost anything to see that look again." Phryne rested her head on his shoulder, hoping her words were enough.

Jack gathered her in his arms and breathed in the scent of her, whispering, "Oh, Phryne. What did I ever do to deserve you?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up; it's time to leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic threats of and reference to rape.

An hour or two later, Jack was not so happy. In fact he was fuming. 

"Herr Richter, I'm sorry but I simply cannot allow you to leave yet. There have been three murders in this town since your arrival, and…" 

"I had nothing to do with those deaths!" Jack protested, but Hoefler overrode him. 

"And… I do not currently have a cargo for you to transport. In another few days, perhaps a week…" 

"A week!" 

"And I cannot permit Fräulein Fischer to leave in any case. As I have already explained to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do." 

Jack hoped the walk back to the tavern would be enough to calm him down somewhat before he saw Phryne. He was getting nowhere in his attempts to find out about Rivka. They were going to have to break in. And Hoefler suspected something, which meant he would be waiting for them. Which meant they needed to draw Hoefler and his men out of the building.

**** ****

Colonel Hoefler watched Jack leave, then called his deputy in. "Did you arrest the Fräulein?" he asked.

"Ja, Herr Colonel," came the answer. "She is in the cells."

"Good," Hoefler replied with a grim smile. "Now we shall see." Colonel Hoefler lit another cigarette before he went down to the cells. He remembered how the Fraulein had trembled when he entered the tavern the other day, and smiled. Now he would find out just who she was, and who this Herr Richter was. One way or another, she would tell him. "Willkommen, Fraulein Fischer," he called out as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He heard a stirring in her cell as he approached, and he gave a wide grin when he saw she wore a defiant glare on her face. Just as I thought! Hoefler gloated. Richter meant something to her. She had regained some of her spirit since his arrival.

"Your 'Herr Richter' has just left, Fraulein. But I do not think he will be back. He seemed most anxious to leave. Tell me, did he help with all of the murders? Or only the last one." He was just trying to get a reaction from her, for now. He wasn’t convinced she had killed Kaufman or Schmidt, though some of the men seemed to think so. Kaufman’s murderer had probably cut his hand on the glass, and she wouldn’t have had time to clean up after Schmidt’s murder before returning to the crime scene with Clara. But he thought she knew a great deal more than she let on. 

She shifted her gaze to the floor and Hoefler suspected he was getting to the woman. He continued prodding her. "We know you were at Frau Abrahams’ house. And Frau Kaufman told us all about you and Herr Richter. We were right about you. You are nothing but a French whore."

Nothing. Hoefler decided to prod a little deeper. "A whore and a murderer. You've already proved you’re a whore. Shall I call my men in, so you can prove it again?" The Colonel saw her give a slight tremor, and smiled, triumphant. "Perhaps I should detain Herr Richter first. Then he can watch you whore yourself to my men. Would you like that, Fraulein? Would he like that?"

Phryne was quickly losing her composure. She wanted to maintain her defiant pose, but she could feel the panic rising, and knew it would show in her eyes. She shifted her gaze to the floor of the cell, near the door so she could see if he approached, but away from his smug smile. She knew Jack would not leave her, no matter what Hoefler thought or said. But what could the two of them do against Hoefler and his men? Maybe if they had the element of surprise, but somehow they knew Jack and she were connected. Which meant they knew he would come for her. And they would be waiting.

‘Whore.’ It was nothing she hadn't heard before, from Hoefler or from others. One of the reasons she had fallen for Jack was the way he accepted her without judging. He had been jealous of some of her lovers, and had once or twice questioned her 'taste in men,' but he had never looked down on her 'loose morals,' despite his unwillingness to become a casual lover himself. When she had performed her fan dance at the gentleman's club, in nothing but a few beads, Jack had watched with frank admiration - but it had been admiration, not possessiveness or lewdness.

Phryne knew she should not respond to Hoefler’s taunts, but she was still too fragile, and she couldn't prevent the tears from sliding down her cheeks. But she realized that if she could keep her wits about her, this weakness could be an advantage. Her tears would make them underestimate her. Hoefler hadn’t said anything about Rivka, and this time Phryne would not go down without a fight.

Colonel Hoefler stepped closer to the bars of Phryne's cell, smoke curling from his nostrils, making him look like some demon from hell. As he made to unlock the door, one of his aides hurried to his side, whispering urgently in his ear. Her tormentor gave an annoyed huff, then turned back to Phryne. "Well, Fraulein, it appears you have a reprieve. Perhaps I will send someone to keep you company until I can return." Then, checking to be sure the cell was locked, he spun on his heel and ascended the steps.

**** ****

Jack tried to calm himself but he was close to panic. They had Phryne! They were going to hurt her again. And this time it would be his fault. He should have gotten Phryne out of here the first day. He was only one man! In Melbourne, he would be able to call out the cavalry, so to speak, and stage a raid. Here, he was only one man, and they would be waiting for him. He took a deep breath. He needed to think. Gradually an idea came to him. It was desperate, maybe even crazy, but it might just work. He needed to talk to Judith, and then he had a murderer to catch.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get outta here...

Inside the station, the phone was ringing. The desk officer on duty, answered it, then covered the receiver with his hand while he spoke to his superior. “Sir, it’s Herr Bauer, at the antiques shop in town. He says there’s been a break in and is requesting we send someone over there.” 

Colonel Hoefler was furious. Normally, he’d just send someone out to deal with it, but tonight was turning out not to be normal at all. He was certain this was all an elaborate ruse. First he had had to send two of his men to a farm outside of town to deal with a drunken farm hand who was reportedly brandishing a weapon. Then it had been the traffic incident on the other side of town, that required two more of his men. Next was the group of teenage vandals who were breaking storefront windows and looting; that had forced him to send off four more. He was quickly running out of men, and he needed as many as possible here. He was sure Richter would come looking for the woman tonight.

He was also sure the man was waiting until most of his men were out in order to act. But as much as he might want to, he couldn’t just ignore the calls. If any of them turned out to be real events, that Jewish bastard of a mayor would have his head. He didn’t know who had woken the old Jew up; until today Hoefler had thought he had the mayor wrapped around his finger. Then he had gotten a rude phone call this afternoon, reminding him of exactly who was in charge. ‘Just wait!’ he thought, ‘When Herr Hitler becomes Chancellor, you’ll be dancing to my tune.’

Seething, he ordered the desk clerk to tell Bauer they’d send someone out, and sent yet another of his men on his way. When the phone rang, yet again, he considered telling the desk clerk not to answer, but it was too late. “Sir? There’s a disturbance down by the river, Sir.”

***** **** ****

After Hoefler left, Phryne had quickly regained her composure. She had returned Jack's lockpicks, so she was stuck in the cell. She tried to think of the likely course of events and what she and Jack might be able to do to get away. She even was able to sleep for a short time, hoping to be at her most alert when they came back. She was starting to nod off again when she heard stealthy footsteps on the stairs.

Phryne stood and moved to the door of the cell, straining her eyes in the gathering darkness to see Jack as he continued down the stairs. She was trying to think of a cheeky remark, when she realized something was not right. The man on the stairs was not Jack. He was alone, and he was sneaking, but she could tell it was not him. When he got close enough for her to see his face, Phryne drew in a sharp breath, trying to stifle an involuntary whimper. She knew this man, and he had not come to save her. But she would fight him this time. He would not have her again.

He saw her waiting by the door, and an evil grin lit his face. "Waiting for me?" He unlocked and opened the door to her cell and entered. As he turned to close the cell door, she staggered forward, preventing him from closing it, while getting closer to him and under his guard. She gave a convincing sob, and moved a tiny bit closer, hunkered over as if in fear or pain. He chuckled and made to grab her arms. As he did, she made her move, exploding up, her knee connecting solidly with his groin, her arm slamming into his throat. The man collapsed on the floor, clutching his aching parts, and gurgling weakly around his crushed windpipe before sliding into unconsciousness. Most importantly to Phryne at the moment, he dropped the key. Phryne grabbed it and slipped out of the cell, pulling the door shut behind her, and locking him inside it. Unfortunately, when he woke his yells would bring the others down the stairs all too soon. Phryne needed to hide quickly.

**** ***** ****

Jack and his companion watched from their hiding spot as Hoefler's men left the building in groups of two or three at a time, heading in different directions. Judith had done it. She had said she would arrange for distractions that would call for a police presence, draining the station of men, and making it easier for Jack to get Phryne out.

He had counted 12 men so far; surely there couldn't be many left now. Jack gave a quick nod to his companion and he and Daniel slipped through the door. Inside, the building seemed deserted. They moved silently to the stairs and carefully started down them. Once downstairs, Jack started peering into cells, while Daniel moved toward the storage area. Bringing a murderer with him on this mission probably wasn't the best idea he had ever had - it was more like something Phryne would have come up with. He was fairly sure Daniel would have come here anyway, though. This way, the two men could cover the large warehouse and basement more quickly. He had hoped that Daniel had gotten information from the guard, but it wasn't much, and at this point he was simply hoping that Daniel's presence would provide a distraction, allowing Phryne and him to escape.

Jack was still looking for Phryne when he heard Hoefler call for help. He glanced at the stairs. He needed to find Phryne now! There. There was a cell close to the bottom of the stairs. That was the one she had noted on her map. How had he missed it? As he moved over to it, he saw a shape lying on the floor of the cell. His first instinct was panic, but he quickly saw the shape was not Phryne. He approached, training his weapon on the figure. It was one of Hoefler's men, and he was unconscious or perhaps dead. Jack quietly checked the door and found it locked. Jack smiled, grimly. Phryne had escaped. But had she gotten out of the building? He could hear sounds of a struggle in the direction Hoefler's voice had come from, and decided to head toward it. If he knew Phryne, she'd likely be right in the thick of it.

***** **** ****

Daniel moved carefully among the stacks of crates and boxes, shelves and file drawers. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, but the guard had said there was a secret holding area where Rivka was being kept. As he wandered further into the warehouse, he saw that all the rows of crates and shelves led to the narrow corridor where he was now. This corridor twisted back and forth several times; perhaps it led to Rivka. Daniel realized he smelled cigarette smoke. Was someone else down here? He walked around another corner and came to a sudden stop. Quickly he stepped back out of sight, praying he hadn't been seen. He paused, trying to calm his racing heart. Hoefler was right there! The twisting corridor ended around the corner in a room of sorts, whose walls were made of crates and boxes, many of them marked in red, and Hoefler was there.

Daniel looked around him for a weapon, spotting a crowbar lying on top of a crate nearby. The young man silently picked it up, peeked around the corner, and readied himself. He counted three and jumped out, swinging the crowbar at the Colonel. He wasn't sure if Hoefler had somehow sensed him, or if the man had just gotten lucky, but Hoefler barely avoided Daniel's strike. Alerted now, Hoefler called out for help, and ducked as Daniel swung again. Neither combatant noticed that Hoefler had dropped his lit cigarette in the attack.

The third time he swung the crowbar, Daniel hit Hoefler a glancing blow. Hoefler lost his balance and fell, momentarily stunned. Daniel, thinking Hoefler was knocked out, immediately dropped the crowbar and moved past the Colonel. There, in a far corner of the basement, Daniel finally found what he had come to Freiburg for.

"Rivka!"

"Daniel?" The girl’s voice was rusty from disuse, and Daniel thought she looked tired and scared, but she didn’t seem obviously hurt.

"Rivka. I'm here to rescue you." He looked around for the keys to her cell, and saw them hanging on the wall. He failed to notice the Colonel's cigarette burning a hole in one of the red-marked cartons nearby. Daniel opened Rivka's cell and let the girl out, giving her a relieved hug, then ushering her back down the corridor toward the main basement area. He saw Jack coming toward them, but he did not see the woman Jack was looking for anywhere. Daniel paused, looking around, and froze.

Hoefler was behind them at the room's entrance, and he was holding a gun. Colonel Hoefler pointed the gun at the girl. He didn't know who this young man was, but he was not leaving with the Jewish girl. She had caused too many problems, and he had had enough. "So, Rebekka, who is your friend?" he asked.

The young man answered, "I'm Daniel Salomon. I've come to bring Rivka home with me to Paris and her Grand-pére."

Hoefler snorted. "I think not, Daniel Salomon." He cocked the gun and pulled the trigger.

Some part of Daniel's brain recognized that the sneer in Hoefler's voice meant danger, and he threw himself at Rivka before the Colonel finished speaking. The bullet ripped into him and he landed on top of Rivka. The girl was screaming, but Colonel Hoefler seemed to be screaming too. Daniel blacked out.

**** **** *****

Jack saw Hoefler fire, and Daniel and the girl fall to the floor. The girl was screaming, and Jack wasn't sure which of the two had been hit. He was already halfway down the corridor, but he knew he would never make it to Hoefler before the Colonel could recover and fire again. Suddenly he saw a blur smash into Hoefler, and heard another gunshot. The Colonel was screaming now too, and there, standing over him, was Phryne. She had attacked the man and wrestled him for the gun. It must have gone off in the process, hitting Hoefler but thankfully, not Phryne.

As Jack reached them, Phryne stepped away from Colonel Hoefler, with the gun still trained on the German, and turned to look at Jack. "Glad you could make it, Inspector," she jibed, panting. Hoefler was on the floor, holding his leg, which was bleeding profusely. He would need to get to a hospital if he was to survive, Jack thought.

"You alright?" Jack asked her gently. When she nodded, he added, "We should get out of here."

She turned toward him, took two steps and almost fell with a hiss of pain. "Damn!" she swore, "I hurt my knee, Jack. I can't put any weight on it."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she draped hers over his shoulders. Together they walked toward where Rivka and Daniel lay on the floor. Phryne leaned against a crate, while Jack checked them over. Rivka was in shock, but seemed mostly unharmed. Daniel was dead. "He— he saved m-m-me," the girl stuttered, and Jack nodded, rubbing her shoulder.

"He did, Rebekka. And if we don't want his death to be for nothing, we need to get out of here, alright?" As much as Daniel's victims might have deserved their deaths, Daniel had still been a murderer in Jack's eyes, but he found himself conflicted about the young man's death. Daniel had given his own life to save Rivka. In the end, Jack decided, he was glad Daniel would not face the 'justice' of men for what he had done.

From her place against the wall, Phryne added, "Your grandfather sent us Rivka. We'll take you back to Paris to see him."

Hoefler was moaning behind them, when suddenly, there was an explosion in the little room at the end of the corridor. Jack looked back as if in slow motion, some small part of his brain registering the warnings written on the crates in red.

Jack grabbed Phryne with one arm and Rivka with the other and ran toward the stairs, pushing them in front of him. "Move! Now!" It sounded like the building was collapsing around the source of the explosion they had heard. He herded the two up the stairs, heedless of whether there was anyone else left in the building. They just needed to get outside. Phryne and Rivka were both stumbling, Phryne trying not to sob from the pain in her knee, but he kept them moving. From the top of the stairs they heard another, louder explosion. There were flames shooting out of several of the offices, now, and Jack pushed them toward the door.

When they reached the door, he moved in front of them. "Stay close." Jack saw no one in the street in front of the building, and he pulled them outside and quickly led them into the shadows of a side street nearby. 

Only then did Jack allow them to catch their breaths. He knew they needed to leave town immediately and head for the French border, before the Nazis and SA came after them. If they were lucky, it might be assumed they had died in the fire tonight, but they couldn't take the chance. After a few minutes, Jack urged them up again, and led them toward the edge of town.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return to Paris, but there's something else to worry about...

In the woods next to the road out of town, they met Judith, who had brought Jack’s motorcar, packed with his and Phryne’s things, some items for Rivka in case they found her, and a rucksack with some bread, cheese and other supplies. When she saw Rivka, the big woman gasped and hugged the girl tightly, her familiar broad smile returning to her face.

Jack wanted to keep moving, but this was the first semi-private moment he and Phryne had had or would have for some time. So he left Rivka with Judith, and led Phryne to a place where she could sit and rest her knee. He helped her lower herself onto a large, flat rock, then sank down next to her. "Phryne?" he asked gently. He could hear the crickets chirping nearby. He wasn’t sure if he could hear the clanging of fire engines in the distance or if he was only imagining it.

She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder with her arms wrapped loosely around him. He held her gently, reveling in her warmth and closeness, and waited for her to say something, anything. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or two, Jack was growing anxious. Did she blame him for her abduction? Was she angry with him? In the dark he couldn’t see her face. She had said she was alright, but what had happened to her while she was in their custody?

Finally, Phryne turned to him. "Jack? What happens now? With us?"

That was not what he had expected. "I don't know, Phryne. What do you want to happen?" Jack asked cautiously. Inwardly he groaned, ‘Coward!’

Phryne gave a frustrated little huff. "I don't know."

"We don't have to decide right now, Phryne. We still need to get back to Paris. Maybe we can talk about it then?" He was afraid if they had this conversation right now he would frighten her with all the promises he wanted to make to her in his relief and worry. He was also afraid she might regret any promises she made to him here once she was safe and far away from her tormentors.

Phryne nodded, but Jack thought she seemed upset. He tried to think of something else to say, but his mind was too muddled. Judith and Rivka were approaching, and Jack gave Phryne a little squeeze before rising. He motioned Phryne to stay seated, and rifled through one of the packs until he found some arnica and a few strips of cloth. He knelt in front of Phryne, and slowly reached for the hem of her skirt, meeting her eyes with a lifted eyebrow to request permission, as he quipped, "I hope you're not concealing anything… lethal under this skirt?" She smirked but nodded permission, and he lifted the skirt to bare her knee, sucking in a breath when he saw the deep purple swelling. He looked up at her anxiously. "How— ?"

Phryne gave a small smirk. "Not quite lethal, but definitely dangerous. You found my cell?" she asked. At his cautious nod, she said, "Johann tried to… renew our acquaintance. I'm afraid I wasn't as… compliant… this time."

Jack gave her a broad smile, then bent, carefully smoothing the arnica ointment into her swollen knee and wrapping the cloth strips around it for support on their journey. "Now that's the Miss Fisher I know and love," he said softly, with a gleam in his eye. "You always have men falling all over you." He helped her to stand. "Hmmm. Now, don't you fall over, Miss Fisher. Let’s get you to the car."

After some brief farewells, they ushered Rivka into the back of the motorcar. Jack held the keys up and cocked his head slightly at Phryne. “Normally, Miss Fisher, I would insist you let me drive, especially with a child in the car.” 

Phryne reached out to take the keys, smirking as she said, “But?”

Jack evaded her hand, still dangling the keys just out of reach. “Promise me you’ll let me take over if it’s too much for your knee.” Phryne huffed, but Jack did not relent. “Partners work as a team, Phryne,” he reminded her. She growled at him. Then she nodded and Jack dropped the keys into her hand. “As I said, normally I prefer to avoid the terrifying experience of your driving,” he said as he smirked again, “But, since we are in rather a hurry to get out of here, I’ll make an exception.”

****

They met no other cars until the reached the Rhine. Jack had been worried that there might be a roadblock set up at the bridge, and had insisted on changing places with Phryne so that she and Rivka could lie down in the back of the car out of sight, but they had crossed the bridge without incident. He drove a while further, until they were safely past the bridge, then asked Phryne if she wanted to drive again, but got no answer other than a soft snore.

Jack drove through the night until he found himself repeatedly nodding off. He pulled off the road near a stand of trees. The rocking of the motorcar as it went off-road woke Phryne and Rivka. When Jack explained, Phryne offered to drive, and Jack gratefully changed places with her. They were still in the Rhineland, and he would prefer not to stop until they were safely inside France. Jack slouched down in the back seat and fell asleep.

****

“Jack, wake up.” Jack woke to the sound of Phryne’s voice and a weight in his lap. His eyes snapped open and he looked down warily. Rivka was curled up on the back seat next to him with her head in his lap. In the driver’s seat, Phryne looked amused. “We’re coming into Paris, Jack. Are we going someplace specific?” The sun was rising; they had driven all night.

“Blumenthal’s I thought, unless you want Mac to check her over first?”

Jack had a moment of terror as the car jerked, and Phryne almost squealed, “Mac is here?!”

“Errr… did I not mention that?” 

**** **** ***** ******

Phryne’s groan of frustration filled the room as she paced like a caged animal. “I don’t know how much longer I can take not knowing, Mac!” Phryne hated waiting.

Mac sighed from where she was watching, draped casually over a chair. “Well, you’re in luck then. Edinburgh has been perfecting a method for testing a urine sample. But it’s not something I can do.” She looked at Phryne and gave a sliver of a smile, adding, “I don’t have any lab mice to sacrifice. I’ll need to talk to the lab and make the arrangements. Even then it will take almost a week to get the results.” She shrugged. “By then it’s a good bet you’ll already know one way or the other. But I’m game if you want them to do the test.”

Phryne nodded miserably. If there was one thing she hated more than waiting, it was not being in control, especially of her own body. Her cycle had always been erratic, and it wasn’t unusual for her to have a 38 day cycle. But she didn’t usually have as much reason to worry. 

Mac stood and crossed the room to Phryne. She laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder and met her eyes. “Phryne. We’ll get through this. One way or another.” 

Phryne was deeply grateful for the compassion in her oldest friend’s eyes, and knew Mac meant it. If it came right down to it, she knew Mac would do whatever she could to help her, regardless of the legalities.

Reluctantly, Mac asked, “Have you talked to Jack about this?”

Phryne didn’t answer. She hadn’t, of course. “You know what his solution will be,” she said, suddenly angry. She picked up a pillow from the bed and threw it across the room.

“Actually, I don’t. And neither do you,” Mac said dryly. “He might surprise you, Phryne.”

Phryne rolled her eyes. “He’s an honorable man. He’ll say we should get married to avoid a scandal.” She picked up another pillow, and held it to her abdomen. “I can’t give up my freedom. Even for Jack. Especially after—”

“Forgive me, but it seems rather arrogant of you to stand here and turn down a theoretical marriage proposal before you’ve even talked to the man.” Mac made a moue of distaste. “Not that I have much experience in the subject.”

“I don’t want to see him until I know,” Phryne wailed.

Mac protested, “The man came halfway around the world to find you, Phryne! I think you owe him the courtesy of not shutting him out now that you’re safe! ‘Thanks Jack, but I don’t want to see you again’? I know you’re scared, but when has he ever been anything but accepting of your choices?”

“Mac! I never thought I’d see the day when you were advocating on behalf of a man!” Phryne tried to sound flippant, but she was shocked. Mac was always brutally honest, but was she actually taking Jack’s side?

“He’s good for you, Phryne.” Mac held up her hands to fend off Phryne’s protests. “I’m not saying marry the man. I’m saying talk to him.” She raised an eyebrow. “Last I heard, talking was not the same thing as a prison sentence.”

**** **** ***** *****

It was evening, and Jack was nervously waiting for her in the hotel bar. They had been back in Paris for some days now, and he was getting anxious. Finally he caught sight of the woman he was awaiting, and he stood as she approached. "Good evening, Mac."

"Inspector," she greeted, taking a seat. They were both wearing suits, as was their custom, though hers was somewhat more tailored and less conservative than his. In the early days of their acquaintance, Jack might have been uncomfortable around her, with her brusque, no-nonsense ways, but he considered Mac a friend now, especially since this trip to find Phryne. Mac signaled to the bartender and ordered a drink.

Phryne. She was never far from Jack’s thoughts, but his expression clouded now as he thought of Phryne and the ordeal she had been through. "Mac, how is she?"

"Straight to the point, then," Mac muttered, then took a breath. "Jack, she's been through a lot." Mac paused, looking at the bar surface, debating.

Jack cleared his throat nervously. "What are you not telling me, Mac? Why doesn't she want to see me?" He closed his eyes. He hadn't meant to sound so stricken.

Mac let out a long sigh. "Jack, you know I can't tell you if she doesn't want me to." She raised an ironic eyebrow. "And she has been very clear in her instructions." She reached over and grabbed Jack's wrist. The flicker of surprise in his eyes brought her back to her senses and she let go of him immediately and covered by lifting her drink to her lips. "The two of you need to talk. I've decided to insist on it. Tomorrow, 10 am. Doctor's orders. Come to her room. I'll get you in there, but then it will be up to you." Mac downed the rest of her drink and stood. "Good night Inspector."

Jack stood with her, wished her good night, and finished his own drink before heading out for a walk to clear his head. He considered what Mac had said, and what she hadn't. He wandered down toward the Seine as he thought. She had invoked patient confidentiality, which implied there was something medical that Phryne hadn't told him. He leaned down and picked up a couple of pebbles from one side of the path along the river. He thought about the possibilities, tossing and catching one of the pebbles. He couldn't think of anything that Phryne would be so reticent to discuss with him. He gave a start, missing the pebble. Except perhaps… The blood drained out of his face, and he wished he had a stiff drink. He replayed everything that had happened since he had found her in Freiburg through this new filter, becoming more grim as he did so. It could be. His second realization, of the other reason she might avoid telling him, made him stumble. Quickly he looked around. He needed to sit down. There. A bench overlooking the river. He sat down heavily while he processed his hypothesis. Unfortunately, it fit. Jack grimaced and shook his head. Oh, Phryne! He covered his face with his hands. How could he have been such a fool? He hoped he was wrong, but was afraid he wasn't.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor's Orders - Jack and Phryne talk

He knocked on her door at precisely 10 a.m., and Mac answered it, holding it open for him to enter. "She's not happy, but she has agreed, under doctor's orders and threat of mediation." Jack quirked an eyebrow at that. "She didn't want any witnesses, Inspector," Mac explained dryly.

Jack felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "So what, exactly, are the doctor's orders?" he asked, hoping for another clue to whether his hunch was correct.

Mac wasn't fooled, but answered him anyway, "She is to discuss the entire situation with you as an interested party, and to decide - with your input - how to proceed. You are to be the judge as to whether your input has been considered. She is still allowed to dismiss it, but she has to convince you that she has heard whatever you have to say." His heart sank even further as he registered the subtext of her words. Mac gave Jack a measuring look, narrowing her eyes at him, then quietly observed, "You've figured it out, haven't you?"

Jack swallowed, hard, his Adam's apple bouncing, and nodded slightly. "I believe so, Mac."

Mac gave him an odd look, part admiration, part sympathy, then shook her head. "Right. I'll leave you to it, then," and she left, closing the door behind her.

***** 

Jack straightened his tie, smoothed his hair back, and ventured further into the room.

He found her sitting on a chaise lounge, with her knees pulled up in front of her, looking more like herself in black trousers, cream colored cowl-neck silk blouse and a familiar creamy lace knit sweater. Her arms were wrapped around her legs with her chin resting on her knees. Jack felt his heart give a lurch. She looked so small, and so lost. He cleared his throat and came into the sitting area, claiming a chair of his own nearby.

Neither of them said anything for a time. Jack wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, and tell her everything would be alright. He was afraid she would tell him she wanted nothing more to do with him, that it was all too much, and she wanted no reminders of what had happened. Gently, carefully, he reached out and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped away a tear that had rolled onto her cheek. "Phryne," he pleaded, although he had no idea what he was asking her for.

She looked down into her lap, and said, almost too softly for him to hear, "I may be pregnant, Jack."

"I guessed," he admitted, trying to keep his voice soft and neutral, trying not to show the shame he felt for having given absolutely no thought to the consequences of their lovemaking.

"I don't know what to do!" she cried, suddenly. "I can't stand babies. It’s probably one of theirs. How could I ever tell a child its father was a rapist? That I don't even know who he is? That he could be any one of them?" She put her face in her hands, sobbing now. "But, Jack, it could be yours. And how could I just discard your child?"

Jack stroked her shoulder, trying to stay calm. "Phryne, I'm so sorry we never talked about this. I would never want to trap you in any way. I want you to be happy." 

He looked away, suddenly, his voice hardening, words tumbling out, "And I do not want you to make any decision because you think I want or don't want a child and then to resent me for it." He realized he sounded more bitter than he had intended, and he tried to temper his words, but all he could come up with was, "I'm sorry. That wasn't really directed at you," which he realized didn't explain anything at all.

Phryne was momentarily distracted from her own thoughts, and was watching him curiously. Jack sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Just, please, talk to me, Phryne. Tell me what you’re thinking. If we are to be partners - of any kind - we need to share our thoughts."

At the word, 'partners,' Jack noticed, Phryne's head snapped up, but he couldn't read the expression on her face. Then she raised an eyebrow. "Which part of that makes us partners, Jack? The part where you said we need to share our thoughts? Or the part where you told me to mind my own business because your feelings and thoughts don't matter?"

Jack sighed. "Don't try to change the subject, Phryne."

Phryne cocked her head. "I don't think I am changing the subject Jack."

Jack knew he was beaten. He looked away from her and sighed again. "When we were first married, Rosie wanted to start a family right away. Then the war came and I enlisted. I didn't think we should keep trying for a baby." Jack swallowed. "If the worst happened, I thought it would be easier for her to start over without a child." 

"Rosie didn't agree." Phryne stated. 

Jack sighed. "She told me she did. I convinced myself she did, and left for France. I found out soon enough, when all her friends with husbands at the front turned out to be pregnant. I could feel her resentment halfway around the world," he said bitterly.

His eyes were full of pain, and Phryne was sorry she had pushed him, but she was curious too. "And when you came home?" she asked gently.

He looked down. "I think she might have forgiven me if we had had a child soon after the war. But I…" he faltered.

Phryne reached out to hold his hand. "The shell shock?" she asked.

He nodded, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "I couldn't muster any interest in anything other than my work." He glanced up at her, then added, so softly she almost didn't hear, "Until you barged your way into my life like a freight train." He squeezed her hand gently, and shook his head to clear it of the painful memories. "This was supposed to be about you, Phryne. What you want, and need. How you feel."

Phryne gave him a small smile. "It was worth a try, Jack."

Jack briefly smirked at her, then became serious again. "Phryne, I'm so sorry. I should have—" he shrugged helplessly. His knowledge of this subject was extremely limited, and he suspected Miss Fisher would not rely on anyone but herself when it came to preventing a pregnancy, but he was mortified to have acted like… like a punter, not giving a damn.

Phryne sighed. "Jack. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t matter. I usually take care of it in advance. The problem is that my diaphragm was torn when I was... Frankly, if you had said anything I probably would have dissolved in tears." She looked away from him, ashamed of her weakness, but then turned back. "I needed you Jack. What you gave me, your love. You saved me when I was drowning. I can't regret that, no matter what." She stroked a hand along his chiseled jaw.

Jack's eyes were bright, and he nodded, once, then swallowed. "But you… don’t know yet?" 

"No."

“When— ?” Jack blushed a bit, then cleared his throat. "I don't know much about women's cycles," he admitted. "Rosie never… said much." In fact, Jack thought, she hadn't ever said anything. It was only his skills as a detective that had helped him realize that the disgust she sometimes showed as she refused his amorous advances had to do with it being 'that time of the month.' Eventually, he had learned to see the signs soon enough to avoid that rejection most of the time. After the war they had rarely been intimate, so it just hadn't come up.

Phryne was not surprised; in her experience, very few men knew anything about women's bodies. "Not all women's cycles are the same," she explained. "Most have a 28 day cycle, but mine aren't regular. Sometimes they are 36 days, or 42, sometimes 18, or 24." She looked at Jack, and he nodded his understanding. “It had been 34 days when we got back to Paris.”

Jack cleared his throat again. "Right. So. How— ? Do we just wait and see?” Dear Lord he was bad at this. 

Phryne looked away, tears shining in her eyes again. “Mac says they can do a lab test, but it takes a few days. Maybe a week. But yes, mostly we just have to wait.” Then, so low Jack almost didn’t hear, “I hate waiting!”

One corner of Jack’s mouth gave a twitch at that. He hesitated but finally asked, “Have you given any thought to what you would do? If you are?”

A thought occurred to him. “What are the local laws on abortion?” He saw her blanch, and backtracked. “I don’t mean to— I’m not—” He took a deep breath. “I’m not advocating one way or another, but we need to have all the information. Having Mac here is an advantage, and I’m sure whatever you want to do she’ll make it happen. But the local laws would still affect our plans.”

Phryne looked annoyed. “It sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind about the ‘plan,’ Jack.”

Jack gave a huff of frustration. "No, I haven't! We don’t even know anything yet! I want to know what you think about this, Phryne. Talk to me, dammit!" She stood up and began pacing. Jack continued, "When you first saw Jane, you said, 'No, I don't do children.' But since then you seem to have changed your mind." It was more question than statement. 

Phryne snorted. "I also recall saying that the situation with Jane would be much worse if she were a babe in arms." 

Jack nodded. "You did. And you're right, of course. A baby is a whole different proposition than a teenager. But babies do turn into teenagers eventually, and you do seem to enjoy raising Jane. True?"

Phryne reluctantly nodded. "True."

"I know you don't worry about public opinion or your reputation, but a babe would have a significant impact on your lifestyle," Jack observed.

She looked at him from under her lashes, and said quietly, "So would a… partner."

Jack felt his heart stutter, and he licked his lips before agreeing with her, "Yes, though it would, perhaps, not require as much change as a babe."

"I suspect that would depend on the partner," Phryne breathed, silently entreating him for something, though even she wasn't sure what.

Jack stood and moved to stand in front of her, taking her hands in his and looking deep into her eyes. "I would never ask you to change, Phryne, but I cannot change myself, either." He felt an odd sense of déjà vu, saying that, but he couldn't think why. "I suspect this is not an issue at the moment, but— I don't think I could bear to share you," he whispered, searching her eyes.

"I would never ask you to, Jack," she whispered back.

Jack inhaled sharply, then leaned forward to kiss her. Phryne wrapped her arms around his warm body, and lost herself in his kiss. He groaned into her mouth, and lightly gripped her hips, holding her to him. She felt him stirring, and bucked her hips into him, making him gasp, "Phryne!" He wasn't sure if he meant it as a reprimand or a prayer. He was having trouble thinking straight, but he managed one syllable: "Mac?"

Phryne hummed as she reclaimed his lips and pushed him toward the bed in the next room, then pulled away momentarily to answer him, "She said she'd meet me for dinner. It's just us."

He pulled back, dizzy with desire, but determined not to repeat his mistake. “I realize if you are pregnant it’s a moot point, but in case you’re not… family planning?”

She smiled and said, “Mac took care of it.”

Reassured, he dove for her lips, murmuring, "Missed you, missed this, oh, Phryne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right around this time they were able to isolate the Hcg hormone (or rather they figured out there was something that changed that they could detect), allowing them to do a urine test for pregnancy. However it wasn't a simple "pee on a stick" test like today. They had to inject a bunch of mice over the course of a few days, then dissect them to determine whether changes in the mice indicated a pregnancy or not. So, yes - it had to be done at a specialized lab, involved sacrificing a number of lab mice, was quite costly, and took close to a week by the time you had the results. (Oh, and for some reason, the test was less accurate with rats...) Mostly it seems to have been used to rule out pregnancy - in cases of cancer or such where there seemed to be symptoms of pregnancy but something seemed off.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They really should be getting ready to meet Mac.

Afterward, Phryne lay awake and thought. So much had changed since she had realized she loved Jack. She felt like she had lost control — of her body, her emotions, her life. She wasn’t sure who she was anymore. She rolled onto her side and watched Jack sleep. He must have been exhausted. He was deep in slumber, his breathing a soft snore that made her smile a little. Since Rene, Phryne had come to define herself through her independence. She was not financially dependent on anyone. She was clever and enjoyed figuring out puzzles, outsmarting others, finding non-traditional ways to accomplish things that others thought impossible. She was skilled at defending herself, a crack shot, good with a knife, capable of using whatever items were to hand to get herself out of dangerous situations. ‘There’s the rub,’ she thought, tears coming to her eyes. She had failed spectacularly in Freiburg, and Jack had had to follow her halfway around the world to rescue her. She wiped at the tears and sniffed. Slowly, so as not to disturb him, Phryne moved to the side of the bed and sat on the edge.

She had been so happy to see him. He had been so kind and gentle with her, understanding what she had been through, helping her begin her recovery. She stood and pulled on her silk robe, reveling in the feel of it against her skin. But she wasn’t sure how to react. Did she ‘owe’ him something now? Did he expect a relationship or even marriage as his due for saving the damsel in distress? Phryne shivered and pulled the robe tighter, wrapping her arms around herself, rubbing her shoulders to warm them. 

She loved Jack, and she wanted… something… with him. He had asked for her fidelity, and she had said she wouldn’t ask him to ‘share her.’ The fact was, that the very idea of sex with anyone other than Jack made her start to panic. (And there was another example of losing herself.) Phryne drifted into the sitting area and turned on one of the lamps before settling on the chaise with her knees pulled up to her chin. She knew that was mostly due to her ordeal. Would that change as she healed? Her sexuality was one of the ways she had expressed her independence — it had been an important part of who she was. But she didn’t want to hurt Jack. And if she changed herself so as to not hurt Jack, was that alright? When did putting a loved one’s needs above your own cross the line into an unhealthy subservience? 

Phryne sighed. She had thought things were complicated back in Melbourne! She hadn’t even begun to contemplate the possibility of a child thrown into the mix — especially one that might (or might not) be a child of rape. She shook her head. She needed to get ready for dinner with Mac.

***

Jack woke to the sound of the shower and smiled contentedly as he stretched. The thought of her, naked in the shower, caused his body to react almost immediately, and he wondered how much time they had before Phryne was to meet Mac for dinner. He glanced at his watch and contemplated joining her in the bathroom, a thought his body thoroughly approved of. He rose from the bed and moved toward the bathroom door, and the shower stopped. Jack froze, picturing her stepping out of the shower, water running over her bare body… He shook himself and tried to think calming thoughts. 

When he thought he was sufficiently calm, he knocked hesitantly on the door. “Phryne? May I come in?” he asked.

The door opened, and Phryne stood there wrapped in a bath towel, with a smaller one wrapped around her hair, smiling brightly at him. “All yours, Jack!” she said, moving to the closet.

Jack put out an arm as she went past, catching her around the waist and pulling her in for a kiss. She hummed her approval, but pulled away quickly, returning to her task of choosing an outfit for dinner.

Jack watched hungrily as she let the towel fall and pulled on the undergarments she had chosen, then sighed and went to take his own shower. As he soaped himself his eyes fluttered closed and briefly he envisioned her hands on him. He forced his mind away from the image, reminding himself she was just in the next room, but, if anything, that made him even harder, and he stifled a groan. He cursed under his breath, but there wasn’t any weight to it; his need was suddenly too great. He closed his eyes again, and imagined her fingers on him as he turned his back to the water and rubbed the soap along his length, leaving a trail of suds. Then he gripped himself and began to stroke. He set a rhythm that was familiar and pleasing, feeling the heat rising and the pressure building, as he pictured all the wicked things he wanted to do to her. He moved faster, his hips twitching as the exquisite pressure reached its height. He was close, now, so close, and he murmured her name, “Phryne! Oh Phryne!” As if her name had summoned them, his mind filled with images of her, on top of him thrusting him deep inside her, of her luscious folds and sensitive clit as he sucked and licked her, oh God, the feel of her surrounding him, hot and wet, squeezing— “Ahhh—” Jack stuffed his other fist in his mouth, trying to stifle his cry as he came. He shuddered for a few moments, reveling in the sensations, and enjoying the hot water flowing over him and washing away the evidence of his lust for her.

He felt a bit guilty, but when he opened his eyes and saw Phryne staring at him, still dressed only in her underthings, her eyes dark with desire, he thought he might die of shame. “Oh God!” he was horrified. What must she think of him? “Ph- Phryne?” 

Phryne swallowed, hard. “Jack!” she whispered, hoarsely, shuddering. And that was when Jack realized she was touching herself. Quickly regaining his composure, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower to stand in front of her. 

Gently he maneuvered her until she was leaning against the sink basin for support, then knelt in front of her, pulling down her knickers as he went. He swiftly pressed his face to her, nudging her fingers out of the way. His tongue darted out, pressing her clit and she gasped, running her hands into his hair and lightly gripping it. He could feel she was close, and he continued licking and sucking at her clit while he parted her folds with the fingers of one hand. When he slipped one finger inside her, she moaned and shuddered again. He added a second, thrusting them deep, while he pressed against her clit with his tongue, and she came apart completely, crying his name and holding his head to her sex in an effort to prolong her pleasure. He continued to coax her through the aftershocks with tongue and fingers until she was too sensitive to take any more.

She sagged down onto the floor next to him, and gave him a contented smile. “Jack!” she said, “You started without me!”

Jack chuckled, and said in his low, rumble, “Hmmm, but you finished a close second, Miss Fisher.”

“That I did,” she said, “That I did.” After a moment, her smile faded. “Jack? How do you really feel about… a baby? And that we don’t know whose it is… if it’s even there?”

"Phryne," Jack murmured, "If you are pregnant, if we do this, we’ll do it together. If we do this, it will be ‘mine.’” Jack corrected himself quickly, “I mean, 'ours.' No matter whose blood runs in its veins. Just like Jane." He paused. "But, Phryne, I had made my peace with not having any children. If you would rather not, I will respect that."

Phryne straighted to look at him, disbelief written all over her face. "Jack!" she protested. "You must have a preference, at least, or an opinion!"

Jack chuckled, and pulled her close, kissing the tip of her nose. "My only 'preference' is to be with you. Everything else is negotiable. Children or no children. Marriage or no marriage. 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people.'" Jack kissed her deeply, and the world fell away, leaving only the two of them.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out the results, and Jack finds out about one of Phryne's previous lovers.

In the end, it turned out Mac was right. While they waited for the test results, Phryne excitedly reported the onset of her cycle to a very embarrassed but relieved Jack. Although Mac cautioned that some bleeding didn’t necessarily rule out pregnancy, the lab confirmed the following day that Phryne was not pregnant.

Although he hadn’t said it outright, Jack had been worried about the idea of a child. Well, not so much the child, as it’s possible parentage. He knew he had said they would raise it as theirs, ‘Just like Jane,’ but he wasn’t entirely sure about it. He and Phryne were only human, and they both had a temper. He had been worried that they might label the child in the heat of anger, either to each other or, God forbid, to the child. 

He had also been concerned about how the child would be accepted — or not — by those outside Phryne’s unconventional family. He suspected Mrs. Stanley would have definite opinions on the matter which she would not keep to herself. Even if they had told people the child was his, Phryne’s insistence on not marrying could still cause problems for the child. 

He mulled it over for a few days, debating whether to broach the subject or not, now that it was a moot point anyway. But it continued to nag at him. Finally, Jack raised the issue, asking what Phryne thought Mrs. Stanley’s reaction would have been.

Phryne rolled her eyes, and groaned. “Ohhh, Aunt P! Thank God we don’t have to deal with that!” After a moment, however, she reconsidered. “She might surprise you, though, Jack. It took her a while to get used to the idea of Jane, but now she dotes on her. And you should have seen her with Mary’s baby. Did you know she delivered the baby herself?”

Jack admitted he was surprised, but added, “I suppose her devotion to Arthur should have been a clue.”

Phryne nodded. “She’s an old softie at heart, and a tigress in defense of those she cares for.” 

“Mmmm. That doesn’t remind me of anyone,” Jack teased.

But Phryne’s face had turned more grim. “No, Aunt Prudence wouldn’t have been the problem. The problem would have been the rest of ‘Society.’” She scowled. “It just makes me so angry. It shouldn't make any difference at all, whether a child’s father is a German rapist, an Australian police inspector, or the Prince of Wales." 

"No. It shouldn't," Jack agreed. He reached for her hand and she let him take it. "Are you telling me you slept with the Prince of Wales?" he asked, teasing her gently in that low rumble that made her shiver. Then his words registered.

She gave a start, her eyes widened, and she felt a rising warmth on her cheeks — oh Lord, was she blushing? She recovered quickly, but it was too late. Jack’s jaw dropped, a look of horror on his face. Phryne placed a finger under his chin, gently closing his mouth with a calmness she wasn’t feeling. Damn! What was wrong with her? She had never been embarrassed about her lovers. She was a grown woman, free to make her own choices. Why did she feel she needed to justify this to him? She quirked an eyebrow. "I have a strict policy to never kiss and tell, Jack," she said, then cocked her head. "But in this case, you might actually be in his debt."

"I'm fairly sure I don't want to hear this," Jack managed. He swallowed.

She realized it wasn’t just that she ‘loved’ him; she didn’t want to lose him. Phryne touched his cheek. "I know, Jack," she said gently. "But I want you to know." His eyes pleaded with her not to continue, but she knew he needed to hear that he was the only one. "That was when I realized I wanted to be with you," she said softly. He blinked, surprised. "Because, despite his many talents," Phryne said, dryly, "He couldn't measure up to a certain Detective Inspector, who I was missing dreadfully." She paused, looking at him, willing him to understand her unspoken thoughts. "And that, Inspector, was even before I had experienced the many talents you possess."

"Phryne," Jack breathed her name like a prayer, and pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a slow, gentle kiss, that touched her to the core. She looked into his eyes and saw the love shining there like a beacon. The intensity made her slightly uncomfortable. The lust was easier to understand and much easier to give in to. Gently, he deepened the kiss, one hand tangled in her hair, holding her to him lightly. With his other arm he gathered her into his lap and held her close, stroking her back, and she gave up thinking. Then in one swift movement, he stood, lifting her in his arms, and carried her to the bed, intent on demonstrating his talents once again.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the two chapters previously posted as "France and Beyond"  
> It's late July in Paris; what is Jack so busy with?

With all of her personal upheaval, Phryne hadn't even realized the Tour de France was happening, until one afternoon when she couldn't find Jack. She had wanted to take him to meet an artist friend she had met by chance at the boulangerie yesterday. But Jack was nowhere to be found. She had noticed he often seemed to disappear for a while after lunch, and again in the early evening, but had assumed he simply needed some time to himself. However, he wasn't usually gone for this long. Frustrated, she finally gave up and went by herself. She enjoyed reconnecting with Georg, but wished Jack had been with her - his presence made it much simpler to rebuff a man's advances, and resisting temptation had never been her strong point. Although the idea of sex with anyone but Jack was still… uncomfortable. And the implications of that feeling were even more so.

Phryne returned to the hotel several hours later, and was surprised to find that Jack's whereabouts were still a mystery. As she dressed for dinner, Phryne realized she was starting to be annoyed with his continued unexplained absence. Finally, Jack arrived to escort her to dinner - an hour later than their usual time. He was profuse in his apologies, but Phryne cut him off, saying coldly, "You have no obligations to me, Inspector, beyond those of common courtesy."

That stopped him in his tracks, but Phryne continued on her way to the dining room, not even glancing back at him. She felt a bit guilty about that, truth be told. Jack was always unfailingly polite, and she thought this was the first time he had ever been late since she'd known him. Not to mention that he probably didn't even realize she had been looking for him earlier, so he would have no idea why she was this upset. She admitted she was overreacting a bit, though she refused to say so. After a moment, Jack caught up to her, settling her hand on his arm without comment. Which, Phryne reflected, spoke volumes.

Once they were seated, Jack finally spoke, "I'm sorry I was late tonight. And I wanted to let you know I will most likely be late tomorrow as well. Perhaps you would prefer to make plans without me."

Phryne looked at him, cocking an eyebrow in a way that usually encouraged him to share his thoughts. To her surprise he blushed! What on earth? she thought.

He looked down at the table, then back at her, finally giving in with a sigh. "Tomorrow is the end of the Tour de France," he admitted. "I've been listening to the radio broadcast in the afternoons to keep track of the racers, but tomorrow they arrive at the Parc des Princes." 

Phryne felt like a heel. "Jack! You should have said something, darling." He had told her once that he as a boy he'd dreamt of riding in the Tour. Now here he was in Paris, in July - of course he'd want to be at the finish. And how like Jack, not to even mention it. It was times like this that she really wanted to wring Rosie's neck. And her own, a tiny part of her admitted. Almost hesitantly, she said, "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Jack. Would you mind if I came along?"

***

So they made a day of it, arriving early to stake out seats, with a well-stocked picnic basket, books, letter writing supplies, and even playing cards in case they got desperate (Phryne hated card games). Jack had regaled her with stories about his childhood dream of riding in the Tour, his own biking adventures, and the Tour itself.

"… it was an absolute fiasco! The racers would make arrangements to get picked up somewhere along the route once it was dark so they could get ahead. A few were caught red-handed, and the times for the top finishers were impossible even though the judges couldn't prove anything. So now they do it in stages, a leg each day, no more racing straight through, and the racers are never out of sight."

Jack's enthusiasm was endearing, Phryne thought. She was much more interested in admiring the bikers' bodies than in the race itself, but she had to admit she was enjoying listening to Jack's deep, rumbling voice. And the antics involved in earning the prize for most combative racer might be fun, she thought.

"My brother and I ran our own unofficial Tour de Melbourne every summer when our cousins visited from Sidney for the holidays. We'd drum up some of the local kids, and find some extra bikes for the visitors. We did a circuit of Melbourne each day for a week. We even had a yellow armband for the leader each day." A shadow crossed his face briefly.

"What happened?"

"There was an accident in Fitzroy one year. Luckily we were all in a group, and we heard Danny fall. But then we heard the squeal of brakes." He paused, and Phryne reached out to take his hand. He smiled gently at her. "He was alright, but it scared us all, and when his parents found out, we all got a hiding." He took a deep breath. "After that, no more Tour." He sounded wistful, and it gave Phryne an idea. 

The publicity caravan arrived first. Jack was a little taken aback by the idea of it, though he did seem to approve of the idea of all the riders using the same bikes, and he admitted, "Desgrange can't be expected to pay for everything himself." 

It seemed Henri Desgrange, founder, sponsor and organizer of the Tour, had decreed not only that every racer would ride one of the identical plain yellow bikes he provided, but also that the teams would race under the flags of their countries, not the sponsorship of companies which would use them for advertising. Unfortunately, that meant the teams didn't have the financial backing they needed for the race, and Desgrange had stepped up to replace much of that funding himself. Hence the publicity caravan - Desgrange had sold advertising in the caravan that preceded the racers to the finish line each day. 

Finally the leading racers appeared and the crowd, already restless from the long wait, roared. The French were well represented in the early arrivals, including the winner of the final stage, Charles Pelissier, and the overall winner, André Leducq, despite the fact he had experienced a bad fall and a broken pedal earlier in the race. 

Phryne thought Jack seemed somewhat reserved in his enthusiasm over the French team, even before she made a comment about Pelissier's thighs. But afterward he was downright sullen. "Now Jack," Phryne chided him, "Don't sulk, it's not becoming. Who was your favorite anyway?" 

Jack shrugged. "It's not that, really, although I did have my eye on Demuysere and the Belgians. It's just that the Pelissier brothers win by using drugs. A lot of the riders do, actually. The racers who refuse to use drugs just can't compete." 

"Is that allowed?" asked Phryne, incredulous, as they gathered up their belongings, stowing items in the basket and preparing to leave. 

Jack snorted. "Apparently it's so prevalent that Desgrange had to put a statement in the rulebook clarifying that drugs are 'not provided' - racers have to bring their own." 

"So much for his attempts to level the playing field," she observed, as they made their way to the street outside the stadium. Rubbing his shoulder, she added, "Not everyone is as honorable as you, my dear Inspector." 

Jack took her arm in his, steering them away from the crowd, and lifted an eyebrow at her. "If they were, Miss Fisher, we'd be out of a job."


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter originally posted as 'France and Beyond.'  
> Someone suggested Phryne would appreciate the view on a tandem bike, and I couldn't resist that idea!

Jack was very much enjoying the view. He was pumping his legs, practically making the bike fly through the French countryside. This had been a wonderful idea of Phryne's, he thought, even if, as usual, she was making him do all the hard work. They had been traveling the last leg of this year's Tour de France route in reverse, albeit much more slowly than the racers. Phryne had worked some sort of magic, somehow getting her hands on one of Desgrange's yellow Tour bikes, and Jack had set off from their hotel in Paris in the early hours yesterday morning, meeting up with Phryne in Beauvais mid-day before continuing on his little yellow bike to their hotel in Amiens.

Today she had worked another miracle, producing a tandem bicycle so they could do the next leg together. Their goal for the day was to make it to Arras, but they were meeting up with their luggage in Hamel, where they would decide whether they wanted to continue on bike or by motorcar. Jack suspected the latter, because they were reaching war country, and the other purpose of their journey. He didn't know how either one of them would handle seeing the battlefields they had worked so hard to leave behind, but they had agreed that they would try.

But that was this afternoon. For now, he was enjoying the sun on his back as he hunched down low over the bike to reduce his air resistance, the feel of the wind whipping through his hair as they sped down the road, and the blur of the countryside going by. He could almost imagine he was part of the race, and he began to imagine the radio announcer's commentary in his head:

"Pelissier and the French are maintaining their early lead, folks, as they make their way out of Dunkirk, on this, the last day of the Tour de France. But what's this? A breakaway rider, making his move as they cross the bridge, heading out into the French countryside. It looks like one of the independents, and he's gaining ground, drawing closer to the French team. And according to our listing, it's John Robinson, the lone Australian in the field. Oh! And it looks like the French have spotted him! There appears to be some shuffling in the team, and they're closing ranks around Leducq, protecting him from the interloper. Robinson keeps gaining ground, though, closing the gap. Where has he been for the last three weeks? He's on the move now, though. The French are picking up the pace, trying to increase their lead, hoping the Australian will fall back under the pressure. It's still a long way to Paris and the Parc des Princes. If the French can tire him out now, they'll have no problems winning the day. Robinson is moving effortlessly, slowly but steadily gaining ground on the Frenchmen. Part of the team has broken off from the pack now. It looks like the main group will stay with Leducq while Pelissier and the rest try to entice the Australian into chasing them and wearing himself out. What do you think, Monsieur Desgrange?"

A second voice joined the first commentator in Jack's head, this one that of Henri Desgrange himself. "Well, Jacques, it's a risky move by the Australian, but if Robinson can keep up with the breakaway pack for long enough, he can turn the tables on them. He's held back for most of the race so far, so compared to them he's practically fresh. If they tire before he does, the French could find themselves in deep trouble, with Robinson positioned to win the final stage."

The first voice took over again. "I don't believe I've ever heard of this Australian before, Monsieur Desgrange. I take it you have?"

Desgrange chuckled in Jack's mind. "He's a dark horse, that Australian. He… "

Unfortunately, Jack's mental commentary was rudely interrupted.

***

Phryne was also very much enjoying the view. She was practically drooling as she watched the muscles in Jack's tight ass ripple in front of her as his thighs pumped, propelling the tandem down the road. Honestly, it was taking all her self-control (never in great supply as it was) to keep from reaching out and…

"Miss Fisher!"

The bike veered wildly, and they almost crashed before Jack, seemingly through sheer force of will, managed to correct the balance and keep them upright, bringing them to a somewhat abrupt stop. They dismounted, with Phryne doubled over with laughter, and Jack leaned the tandem bicycle against a nearby tree, before glaring at Phryne. "You are incorrigible!"

Phryne gave him a look of pure innocence. "But Jack, there was a mosquito!" she said, batting her eyelashes at him and just barely containing her mirth.

Jack snorted and shook his head, although she could see he was trying hard not to smirk at her antics. "You're going to get us killed, Miss Fisher," he reprimanded.

"Nonsense! I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Inspector," she practically purred in a voice ripe with innuendo, as she moved close to him. "Besides," she cooed, reaching up with a handkerchief she had produced from God knew where to wipe the sweat from his brow, "You could do with a break."

Jack sighed. "Miss Fisher," he warned, "If you don't stop this, we'll never make it to our hotel." He glanced at her, with a slight quirk of his mouth, "Or the bed we have reserved there," he added, hoping to provide her with an incentive. He was hot and sweaty, and his muscles were pleasantly sore from his long ride yesterday. The physical activity might be increasing his own libido, but surely he didn't make an especially attractive partner right now, he thought.

"Who needs a bed, Inspector?" she smoldered, running a hand up his chest and around the back of his neck, and leaning in close. Her heated gaze darted to his lips before returning to his eyes. "We won't be reaching that bed until this evening, Jack," she added, biting her lip. "You know I'm not very good at waiting." Apparently he was wrong. 

Seemingly of their own accord, his hands had fastened themselves to her waist, and were pulling her hard against him, sliding around to hold her tight. One drifted up to tangle in her hair, pulling her into a deep kiss, while the other reached down and cupped a buttock firmly as he ground himself against her, growling deep in his throat.

Phryne moaned into his mouth, her own hands urgently trying to burrow under his shirt to find his skin. When he felt her fingertips on the skin above his trouser waistband, Jack realized with a start that they were in plain sight on the side of the road, and pulled back, breathing heavily. His body practically screamed in protest, his need throbbing almost painfully. As much as his sense of propriety objected to this, the thought of getting back on the bike in his current state made him wince. ‘To Hell with propriety,’ he thought wildly.

He looked around them hurriedly, then tugged her with him toward the nearby line of trees. Beyond the trees was an open field, with a farm house visible in the distance, but as he stopped to get his bearings, he realized that they were standing in a slight dip. It wasn't much, but the trees would hide them from the farm, and the dip would hopefully be enough to keep them from being seen from the road. Well, he amended to himself, it would once they were lying down.

With that thought in mind, Jack went down on his knees, pulling Phryne with him. "Why, Jack!" she cooed, "How delightfully— " then she squeaked as Jack pushed her to the ground, rising above her. He held himself up with one hand, while the other worked quickly to unbutton her trousers. ‘Well!’ thought Phryne, ‘If this is what a day of biking does to him, I definitely need to plan more such excursions!’ She helped him rid her of trousers and knickers, and began working on his, distracted by his tongue wrestling with her own, and his fingers already probing in her slick folds.

It only took her a moment to free him of his layers and guide him to her, but by then he had her so close to the edge that the feel of him thrusting into her, deep and strong, made her clench around him and cry out. He stilled as she came, closing his eyes and straining to keep control while she shook. Then as her tremors gentled, he began to move, slowly now, with long, deep strokes, bringing her back to the edge. As the pressure built he moved faster, deeper, harder, until with a wild cry, he spilled deep inside her, and she came with him, echoing his cry. Jack continued to move, more slowly, now, shuddering through the last waves before he collapsed, rolling to one side and pulling her with him to snuggle into his shoulder.

They must have dozed off, because the next thing Jack knew, the sun was rather lower than he would have liked. "Phryne," he said softly. "Wake up, love. We need to go."

As they approached the bike, after having adjusted their clothing, Jack raised an eyebrow and smirked at Phryne, saying, "I think perhaps I had best take the back position, Miss Fisher, or we may never reach our destination."

Phryne pouted at him for a moment, then mounted the front seat of the bike, wiggling her bottom at him enticingly. "If you insist, Inspector."

Jack groaned to himself. ‘I just can't win,’ he thought, although part of his brain retorted, ‘Don't you mean 'Can't lose'?’ He took in the delectable view in front of him as they set off again, and thought, ‘Yes, that too.’


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, since Phryne hasn't had any stress at all during this trip, I thought a visit to the WWI battlefields and memorials was in order.

‘What was I thinking?’ Phryne wondered. As if she hadn’t dealt with enough over the last few months! Why on earth had she agreed to revisit the battlefields? She sighed. Probably because Jack had suggested it. They had both been having nightmares, especially since returning from Germany. Hers were a horrific mix of all her traumas — Rene brutalizing her on a battlefield, while Murdoch Foyle stood by, holding a knife to Janey’s throat (although sometimes it was Jane’s or even Jack’s throat). Jack hadn’t said much about his, but he had suggested they tour the battlefields and visit some of the memorials. So, here they were, in Longueval at Caterpillar Valley Cemetery, now one of the central burial grounds for the Somme.

“And the next land he found, it was bare and hilly ground -  
Where once the bread-corn grew,  
But the fields were cankered and the water was defiled,  
And the trees were riven through.”

She’d forgotten the trees. The copses — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Copses — destroyed by artillery fire, their jagged stumps sticking up from the ground like rows of jagged teeth.

“And there was neither paved highway,  
Nor secret path in the wood,  
But had borne its weight of the broken clay  
And darkened ‘neath the blood.”

Phyrne shivered, remembering the blood, as Jack intoned Kipling’s familiar words.

At first, the war had been a grand adventure. It was a chance to escape her family, to establish her independence, to make a real difference in a worthy cause, not to mention all the men in uniforms. And out of uniforms. 

The work came in waves, heavy during a battle, then dwindling until the next big push. The Army sent many of the wounded back to ‘Blighty’ to recover. Those who stayed were mainly those whose injuries were too serious for them to be moved, and those who were suffering from infectious diseases — trench fever, influenza, and others.

They would get word of an upcoming push, and would clear the wards as much as possible to make room, sometimes laying mats between the beds to accommodate more. Then the bugle call, and no matter the hour, they would report. The convoy would arrive and the men were brought in to be undressed and blanket-bathed before being treated. 

She had expected the blood, but not the filth. Growing up in poverty in Collingwood she had seen plenty of filth, but the trenches beggared belief. In between battles, they dealt constantly with trench fever, which they eventually learned was carried by body lice.

What bothered Phryne the most, though, was the feeling of helplessness. She was fine when she had a task — when the convoys arrived and she could busy herself with the bathing and the bandaging, or the cleaning and disinfecting that the wards needed almost constantly. But the worst moments for Phryne were when she was on special for a hopeless case. There was, of course, some balm to being able to provide a bit of comfort in a man’s last hours, but too many times there had been nothing she could do even to ease their passing. Too many times, she just sat and watched as life slipped away.

Her memories weren’t all bad. There had been liaisons with other staff — orderlies or doctors — and entertainments arranged by the military. Recitals, music and dancing. There had been pleasant outings to the local villages during time off, too. She remembered walking to Mesnilval when she was posted nearby. She had gone with several others, and taken a swimming costume just in case. The tide had been out, and they had wandered on the sand and splashed a bit. Some of the locals were out, digging oysters, and she had left the others and gotten the villagers to show her how to dig and shuck the oysters. By the time she grew tired, she had had to go back over fields and meadows, wriggling low under barbed wire fences, so as not to be late for her shift.

Phryne found that she wanted to share those memories with Jack. He was all too familiar with what she had faced while on duty, but perhaps they both needed to acknowledge the good times, as well as honoring the dead. She didn’t think the dead would begrudge them the few bittersweet moments or the fleeting times of laughter. 

She hooked her arm in Jack’s and steered him through the graves back toward their motorcar and began to share her stories.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's turn.   
> This is the last chapter. Thanks for all your wonderful comments along the way!

They were still some distance away when they first caught sight of the Cross at the Tyne Cot Cemetery. Jack was driving this morning, and he had intended to visit some of the battlefields first, but the Cross drew him. When they reached the cemetery, Jack parked and they walked through the seemingly endless rows of headstones to the Cross built over the German pill-box he and so many others had fought to capture that October day.

Quietly, Jack quoted from Kipling’s “The King’s Pilgrimage”:

‘And the last land he found, it was fair and level ground  
About a carven stone,  
And a stark Sword brooding on the bosom of the Cross  
Where high and low are one.’

Jack and Phryne stood gazing at the great Cross of Sacrifice at Tyne Cot, the white marble gleaming in the sun, the bronze sword shining. The simple poignancy of the monument evoking their memories and bringing tears to their eyes. Jack’s arm was around Phryne’s waist and he pulled her close into his side, taking comfort in her warmth and the clean scent of her hair.

After they had stood silently for a time, Jack looked down at Phryne, and, with a twitch at one corner of his mouth, he asked, “Does Edward really have Nazi sympathies?”

Phryne rolled her eyes, and grimaced. “It’s ‘David’ among friends and family, but yes, the Prince certainly wasn’t shy about expressing his opinions about ‘racial purity.’ I’m not sure whether he embraces all the ‘25 Points’ but he agrees with enough of them to make an ass of himself. I wouldn’t wish the man dead, but I sincerely hope he never becomes King.”

“A far cry from HRH the young pilot and would-be hero we heard about in the trenches,” Jack mused.

They said nothing for a while, each lost in their own thoughts about the war, until finally Jack said in a broken voice, “In the end, all of this—” he swept his hand over the cemetery and monuments around them before continuing, “It didn’t solve anything. In our desire to punish the Huns we’ve set the stage for the next act! The German people are suffering, and they are starting to see Hitler as their only hope. He’s promising them food and jobs and their dignity. Since the Stock Market crash the support for the Nazi party has been growing. It’s all going to happen again.”

He paused, then again quoted from Kipling’s great work:

“All that they had they gave — they gave —  
In sure and single faith.  
There can no knowledge reach the grave  
To make them grudge their death  
Save only if they understood  
That, after all was done,  
We they redeemed denied their blood  
And mocked the gains it won.”

There were tears shining on his cheeks as he finished, and Phryne almost didn’t hear when he said, “And yet, how can the world not ‘mock’ the sacrifice when the ‘gains’ are so short-lived?” Slowly Jack sank to his knees and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed, and he curled down over his knees, his forehead resting on the bright green grass. Phryne knelt beside him and placed a gentle hand on the back of his shoulder, not saying anything, just letting him know she was there. In her time as a nurse she had borne witness to this grief a thousand times. She had learned all the platitudes and things people say when confronted by another’s grief, and she knew none of the words mattered as much as just being present.

While he grieved, Phryne thought. Jack had always been strong, even at his gentlest, as when he had comforted her in Freiburg. And while he recognized her strength, Phryne mused, this was the first time he had allowed her to be the protector, to comfort him. She realized she was relieved. Relieved to know that even though he had ridden to her rescue like a knight in shining armor, and done so much to help her begin her recovery, that he still believed in her strength, and trusted her to watch his back while he grieved. The fact was, she had started to resent his rescue, fearing that he would think she owed him, that she was obligated to be with him. But that wasn’t it at all. He was treating her as a true partner, an equal. Rescuing her was simply what a partner would do; he knew that had it been him trapped there she would have come for him. And so, here he was, finally allowing himself to grieve, after blocking away all the pain for so many years. Now he was exposing himself, knowing she would keep him safe while he did. Phryne felt tears pricking at her eyes, and she blinked them away as she rubbed gentle circles on Jack’s back.

Eventually, his tears ran dry. Phryne found a handkerchief with her free hand and silently offered it to him as he sat up. His eyes were red and swollen, his nose was running, there was a smudge of mud on his forehead, and his face was blotchy, but Phryne thought she had never seen him look more beautiful. ‘Well,’ she modified, thinking of Jack’s face as they made love, ‘Almost never.’

He took the handkerchief and mopped himself up, looking self-conscious and scared. “I—” he started, but Phryne didn’t let him finish.

“Jack Robinson, don’t you dare apologize to me!” she said, glaring at him.

Jack swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing. “Thank you,” was all he finally said.

They stood and he offered her his arm. They made their way slowly back to the car, both realizing this was enough for one day. Perhaps they could face some more this afternoon. Perhaps not. “I’ll drive,” Phryne offered, and Jack wordlessly passed her the keys.

****

They had been in their room at the hotel for several hours, and Jack still had not said anything. Phryne was getting desperately bored, but she would not leave him alone in this state. At first, she hadn’t spoken because she knew he would need some space. But he had worked his way through several large whiskeys, looking more despondent with each swallow. It was starting to scare her, and for the first time she felt a tiny bit of sympathy for Rosie. She’d always known Jack had a tendency toward brooding, but there seemed to be an edge to this side of Jack that she didn’t like. If this was what Rosie had faced day after day, it was no wonder she had eventually given up and moved out. But Phryne was nothing if not stubborn, and she was determined to bring him out of this morass.

Phryne sat down on the chaise next to his chair and cleared her throat. Jack glanced at her, seeming to come out of a trance. He raised his glass to take a drink and realized it was empty. He set it on the table and reached for the bottle, but Phryne intercepted his hand. “Enough, Jack,” she said quietly.

He closed his eyes and she saw his jaw tighten in anger. She kept hold of his hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with her thumb. Slowly the tension drained out of his jaw. Finally he opened his eyes and in a hoarse voice he pleaded, “Why me? Why did I survive when so many others did not?”

How she wished she had a good answer for that. “I don’t know, Jack,” she said gently. “But a wise man once told me that you owe it to them to keep living to the hilt.”

Jack looked down to where she was still stroking his hand. “I’m not as good at that as you are.”

Phryne smiled and lifted her other hand to cup his cheek. “I think you’ve been doing a pretty good job of it recently, Inspector.”

He gave her a weak smile and covered her hand with his. Phryne thought he needed a distraction. Her familiar, wicked smile spread across her face as she announced, “What you need, Inspector, is a good murder.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t go to any trouble on my account, Miss Fisher,” he quipped, his own familiar wry grin finally making an appearance.

Phryne stood and held out her hand. “Let’s go home, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a history lesson: 
> 
> Rudyard Kipling wrote “The King’s Pilgrimage,” in homage to King George V’s 1922 ‘pilgrimage’ to many of the military cemeteries housing the dead of WWI (of whom Kipling’s son was one). I don’t think it’s a stretch to imagine that Jack and Phryne would both be familiar with the haunting words of this piece. You can find the full text of the poem (with a link to notes) here: http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poems_kingpilgrim.htm 
> 
> Kipling - “Where high and low are one” refers to all soldiers - of all ranks and social backgrounds - being buried together. That’s what makes Jack think of HRH
> 
> Edward was known to friends and family as David (the last of his 7 given names).
> 
> 25 Points - Nazi Party platform, announced 1920, included expansion of the German state, the dissolution of the Versailles Treaty, and the desire for ‘racial purity’ and a hatred of Jews.
> 
> “HRH the young pilot and would-be hero” - Edward had just come of age when WWI broke out and he wanted to fight, but the War Secretary refused to allow it. He visited the front lines as often as he could and earned a pilot’s license in 1918. He was much heralded by the men both during the war and after.
> 
> The Treaty of Versailles, it is generally acknowledged now, was very hard on the German people. Germany was required to accept full responsibility for the war, and by doing so, it took on an overwhelming debt. The main attraction of the Nazi Party, for many, especially in the early years, was the prospect of jobs and food through the expansion of territory (many of the areas lost to Germany were farming areas) and the dissolution of the treaty and thereby the debt. The Stock Market crash of 1929 was the final straw for many. It plunged Germany into the Depression and by 1930 the Nazi party had gained a lot of support. In 1932, Hitler was elected Chancellor.
> 
> Kipling - “All that they had they gave” - this stanza makes reference to the hope that we, the people they saved, would not forget the sacrifices made or the ‘gains … won’ by the war.


End file.
